


Deaductive Reasoning

by srsly_yes



Series: Blood Brothers 'Verse [7]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Mystery, Vampire!Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-15
Updated: 2009-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patients are being murdered as a serial killer stalks the halls of PPTH. House investigates. Could it be Wilson? Only his minion, House, knows he's a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not mine. Just borrowing the House MD Characters for a little while.  
> **Beta: **My profuse thanks to my betas who gave their kind attention to this project and offered excellent advice: [](http://leakey-lover.livejournal.com/profile)[**leakey_lover**](http://leakey-lover.livejournal.com/) and [](http://bookfan85.livejournal.com/profile)[**bookfan85**](http://bookfan85.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://bishojo-kitsune.livejournal.com/profile)[**bishojo_kitsune**](http://bishojo-kitsune.livejournal.com/).
> 
> **Big Bang Artwork:** Thanks to [](http://alexwhitewell.livejournal.com/profile)[**alexwhitewell**](http://alexwhitewell.livejournal.com/) , [](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/profile)[**brynnamorgan**](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ollee.livejournal.com/profile)[**ollee**](http://ollee.livejournal.com/).  _Link to additional artwork at the end of the story._  
> 

[](http://housebigbang.panfandom.ca/artwork/alexwhitewell.htm#one)  
by [](http://alexwhitewell.livejournal.com/profile)[**alexwhitewell**](http://alexwhitewell.livejournal.com/1303.html)

[](http://housebigbang.panfandom.ca/artwork/brynnamorgan.htm#one)  
by [](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/profile)[**brynnamorgan**](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/)

[](http://housebigbang.panfandom.ca/artwork/ollee.htm)  
by [](http://ollee.livejournal.com/profile)[**ollee**](http://ollee.livejournal.com/)

.

### Prologue

.

Light leaked through the blinds from a lone office on the fourth floor.

The late hour was taking a toll on the doctor's good-looking features.

Usually paperwork calmed him. Removed the faces from the facts, but he'd finished going through his patient's files, and something felt...odd...off...out of the ordinary.

His day was filled with new and old patients with one thing in common, dreading to hear they had some variation on his specialty, cancer. They filed through his office as he gave them his thumbs up or down verdict. Those who were told the tests were negative fled with the speed of someone running away from a killer tomato or a...vampire.

If they only knew....

Then there were the not so lucky few too sluggish to leave his lair. Faces all too human as their blood turned to poison, their bodies transformed into an enemy.

What wouldn’t he give to make them healthy again. But there were rules, and taking a life to save one was against everything he believed.

All he could do was order tests. Put on a show. Truthfully, he could almost advise his patients of their prognosis from the scent off their vials of blood, but try to explain that to his staff, Cuddy, or the board.

House would understand and his blue eyes would turn vivid with appreciation.

Leaning back in his chair, the oncologist thought about the diagnostician. Closed his eyes to check on their connection. The distance between them was too far to send or receive telepathic messages, but he perceived a steady heartbeat. House was awake and relaxed--probably watching television.

Picking up his cell on the desk, he called home.

"Minion with an opinion. How may I help you?" The television buzzed in the background. The gruff voice and peripheral sounds were so comforting, he almost sighed a breath as if he needed to use his lungs.

"Hey. I'm running later than expected. Need to enter my numbers and I'll be out of here."

There was a significant pause. "Is that your way of asking me to stay up? Planning on a late cocktail hour, are you? Not going to sit down with that damn book of yours and read the rest of the night away about flying or turning into a bat?"

"No. Tonight all I want is you."

The graveled voice dipped to a sexy growl. "You know I'm ready."

Eyelids lowered over the brown eyes, sparkling with sensuous desire. "Good. I'll be home in less than an hour."

Wilson shut the phone, but he held onto the connection, appreciating the slight rise in House's heartbeat for a minute longer before he let go.

The keyboard clicked as he entered the final set of figures for the evening: his. One by one he entered numbers that reduced his patients to statistics. Prognoses and mortality of men, women and children distilled into percentages that Cuddy and the board interpreted as a health report on his department.

He looked up to see how the formula was converting the numbers on the spreadsheet and his hand stilled, hovering over the keyboard.

_No, it couldn't be._

Stopping, his hand shook as it rifled through the remaining folders.

One more fatality, and he would be up for review.

Thankfully, the rest under his care were alive.

He shuddered. Fuck the stats. What was going on with his patients?

Entering the last of the numbers, he compared his with his attendings. His own were the worst.

Forgetting the heated promise that was cooling on his lips, Wilson began analyzing all the files in front of him.

Three hours later he was still at his desk with his head in his hands.

 

.

 

### Chapter One

.

Arriving home an hour before dawn, Wilson quietly removed his clothes before entering the bedroom, hoping not to disturb House. Slipping under the covers, he stayed close to the edge of the bed, hungering to wrap his arms around him. He ached to feel the vitality under House's robust, well-muscled chest as red blood cells traveled one-way highways. But he didn't dare.

His own heart and body were cold. He could not reciprocate the same comfort.

"Less than an hour, isn't that what you said?" A voice ripped through the curtain of darkness.

"There was an emergency."

"One with a nurse? My spies said you never left your office."

"Your spies should tend to your patients." Wilson huffed his annoyance.

"They can do two things at once. Is that what you were doing? Paperwork and a nurse?" House replied roughly.

"Can we drop this? At least wait until later this morning?"

Analyzing the fatigue in the vampire's voice, House saw it as an opportunity and pushed, "You've cheated before. You expect me to roll over and share my bed with you?"

Much like a pebble rippling a lake for a finite moment, the bed rocked and leveled.

Wilson's voice receded with his footsteps. "Fine. I'll go to the couch. At least I'm guaranteed to sleep well."

Of course, neither did.

House considered downing two pills for twin aches: one for the crater in his thigh, and the other for the hole in his heart. He believed the two went together. The weakening of the connection between Wilson and him.

They were drifting apart.

Wilson had been preoccupied for weeks. Mainly with that damn mysterious, ugly book he received from the Godfather of the vampire clan at the annual vampire's ball. An honor bestowed for services rendered, it was the most grotesque volume he had ever seen. The cover moldy and cracked, it smelled peculiar like rancid ash and burnt blood. The pages tinged brown and dusty. Most were warped and many stuck together. It looked like it had been published in a printing press from hell. Most likely was.

It prickled in House's hands whenever he touched it, but Wilson could barely let it go, spending hours every evening pouring over the pages and trying to decipher the archaic and bastardized Latin.

House’s ears echoed with Wilson’s whispers.

_“…lux lucis profusum praen pereti.”_

His brain curdled at the words.

_“Cruor mortii mos nunquam verto.”_

Wilson was obsessed with it to the point that House couldn't tell if he was consuming what was between the covers, or if the book was consuming him. At first the leather bound parchment pages were something of a joke.

"What do you expect to learn from that sheep in cow's clothing? World peace? Find the cure for cancer?" House would heckle.

Wilson was too spellbound to look up from the crisp, fragile leaves. "Um-humm."

"While you're at it, would you find out how to raise Marilyn Monroe from the dead?"

"Okay." Brown hair flopped in careful negligence.

"Better yet, can you have Carmen Electra grow a penis and show up for my birthday?"

Wilson finally came up for air. "House, I'm concentrating. What do you want? For me to fly or an electric cock?"

Not exactly what he was asking, but worth considering. House did a pause worthy of Kelsey Grammar or Jack Benny.

"House?! Answer me? You can't really be thinking...?" Wilson's question dissolved into a chuckle.

It ended with a fiery kiss and greedy hands roaming over responsive flesh, before they fell into bed.

But lately....

A new thought insidiously took hold. He wasn't sure if Wilson was really enthralled with the book or it was his way of signaling something was wrong with their relationship.

They definitely were going through a rough patch.

Wilson couldn't be budged from the couch. He huddled over the tome, whispering and repeating passages, waiting for something to happen, then shaking his head as his eyes crossed and he pinched the bridge of his nose with annoyance.

There was something unhealthy about this fixation. House could see darkening rings forming under Wilson's eyes from late nights. He was getting thinner, running out of energy and patience.

Their lovemaking was suffering, and he didn't like it one bit.

Vampire sex--the supernatural out-of-this-fucking-world sexual marathon that took place when Wilson sucked on his neck--was the hottest he had ever enjoyed in his life. Electricity ran through his veins, and every cell ignited with passion. It made a probing knife in an electric socket feel like mere static electricity.

As an added bonus, he was off Vicodin. As long as they had sex, his leg was feeling fine, but Wilson had cautioned not to expect this offshoot to remain permanent, so they agreed he should keep the cane as a prop not to arouse suspicion from his colleagues.

Right now, he was sporting a particularly handsome one he found in a small junk shop. A cane made out of ebony. He purchased it for two reasons, the well-balanced weight and Wilson's immediate dislike of it. With use, the cane yielded two more surprises. From his hand rubbing against the handle, he found there was an intricate silver filigree design embedded into the wood with an initial, "H," as if it was custom made for him. What were the chances? The second he discovered purely by accident one day when fidgeting with it. A smart quarter turn dislodged the top from the bottom, which proved that the handle hid a bright dazzling dagger.

He far preferred using the cane as a prop rather than to prop himself up, but he might have to rely upon it if his relationship kept going south. Lately, everything had gone flat. They were becoming like a dull neutered couple from a '50s sitcom. Wilson would drag himself home exhausted and the first thing he'd do was bury himself in the cursed book. If House were at all lucky, Wilson would next bury his fangs into him.

He felt like an afterthought. The last fuel stop on the road for another 200 miles.

The sex was all too "human." A kiss, bite, and a schtoop in the ass, roll over and play dead. In Wilson's case the dead was almost too literal.

That's why he jumped to the conclusion that Wilson was back to his old ways. Woo 'em, love 'em, and divorce 'em. House was tempted to look elsewhere. Damned if he didn't feel a pang of sympathy for Julie.

Jealousy made House suspicious. Lying was second nature for his partner.

When Wilson confessed about his “condition” after Amber died--that he was a vampire, he was physically weak and barely able to walk. He tried surviving on animal blood, but needed a human’s to exist.

At the same time, he admitted to a longtime attraction and ardent, sexual interest in House, who was whole-heartedly ready to couple. But now House was rethinking Wilson's motives. Perhaps his declaration was only an act--a vampire's crafty way of luring a victim to willingly volunteer blood.

He knew Wilson was back on women. He'd admitted to one slip-up. The woman at an airport hotel after being away at a conference for nearly a week, claiming his only attraction to her was his hunger for blood, but now House was sure there was some nurse....

Insecurity prompted House to get out of bed and limp into the living room.

"Wilson, what the fuck is going on with--"

Wilson wasn't there. He was nowhere to be seen, and a shiver ran up House's spine. On closer inspection, there was an indentation from a body on the sofa.

And the book...it was open. Floating a foot above the cushions.

"I want some answers now," House demanded.

* * *

 

A triumphant voice whispered in his head, "I did it! I finally figured out the incantation!"

"Congratulations," House answered dryly. At one time he joked about Wilson's undeveloped talents. Why he couldn't become invisible, fly or transform into a bat, but now he saw it as an example of Wilson's waning interest in him. He was being pushed out by this new hobby.

"Are you a ventriloquist too? Besides not seeing your lips move or for that matter, your lips, I'm hearing you inside of me."

The imprint on the sofa disappeared and the book flew to the coffee table. Arms encircled him as Wilson's voice vibrated within him. He could feel the length of his body along his back.

"I'm speaking telepathically. It's a corollary to the spell."

Feeling a firm prod in his backside, House's curiosity was rising. "What about sex? Can you fangbang while channeling the invisible man?"

He felt Wilson move away from him but cup a hand on his butt, as another ran down his arm and held his hand, dragging him in the direction of the bedroom. "I was hoping that curiosity of yours would make you ask that very question. Let's find out."

* * *

 

They started as they always did. Wilson gripping House snugly as he bit sharply down on his neck.

Without leaving the bedroom they flew halfway across the world and back. Their blood turned into explosive jet fuel. Their bodies transformed into thundering rockets. Earthly pleasures swallowed them up in an orgy of lust. The juice squeezed out of each and every cell in their tumultuous need for each other until their bodies shook out of control. When they were too weak to move, a tidal wave of warming nirvana drowned them as they clutched onto each other, drenching and restoring them. Parachutes of euphoria protected them during their descent.

The embers of satiated desire were still giving off smoke an hour later. Invisible or not, their relations always worked that way when Wilson was attentive and wanted to please. A handful of minutes served up mind-blowing sex that included at least a half-dozen orgasms, and fifty-five minutes were allotted for coming down to earth and recovering in each other's arms.

House thought, _That was too sinful for heaven._

Wilson thought, _I'm racking up another reason to go to hell._

Neither man cared where they went, as long as it was together.

* * *

 

The next morning House woke up feeling woozy around the edges. It took a full minute to realize he was looking at a completely visible and naked Wilson. "Another corollary?" he asked.

"Wha--?" Wilson looked far more fresh and vibrant than last night, but mentally had not completely broken out of his fuzzy cocoon.

Running a finger along his partner's jawline, House said, "I can see you."

Wilson looked at his hand. "Hmmm. I didn't say the reversing spell, but a transfusion of blood may trigger the same thing."

The brown eyes were filled with concern. "You were limping earlier; how's your leg?"

House tested it, "Feels fine." Deciding to go to the bathroom, he got out of bed and promptly collapsed, but didn't fall on the floor. With vamp hyperdrive, Wilson was there and caught him. "House, easy, sit down." Wilson did a quick check on his vitals.

"I fed too much on you," Wilson said regretfully. "Between the late nights and recovering from the spell, I went a little overboard. Forgive me."

"As long as you reciprocate and feed me." A parting kiss and House shoved off the bed, this time finding his sea legs, and worked his way toward the bathroom.

By the time House washed up, he could find his way to the kitchen blindfolded simply by following the scent of bacon. Wilson was in his element, cooking in his newly remodeled kitchen that the landlord was only too pleased to let him spend his own money on. Stainless steel appliances nestled between black granite-topped maple cabinets. The cabinets were entirely too light and pasty for House's taste, but it had been his bargaining chip to avoid doing any chores.

"Your money, your choice of cabinets. I'm not going near the kitchen."

The culinary examples produced from Wilson's revamped little world were spectacular.

Right now, Wilson was serving up a fluffy, moist, golden cheese omelet with crispy rashers.

Savory buttered rye toast helped encourage the last drops of egg onto House's fork.

Ensuring he had seconds before he launched into dangerous territory with his question, House asked, "Why were you late last night?"

Not meeting his eyes, Wilson began, "I told you, an emergen--"

House let his fork drop against the plate. "Don’t start that again, because I know you’re lying. Granted, it wasn't a nurse, because you were too hungry last night, which meant you hadn't fed. You were locked in your office most of the night, but you know your job too well to take that long with paperwork."

"How would you know? You never do your own forms.” Wilson answered with asperity. “There were some discrepancies, that's all. I had to recheck everyone's work. Drop it."

Noting the surly expression, and believing for the most part that their relationship was on track, House let it go.

But he didn't forget.

 

[](http://www.statcounter.com/joomla/)


	2. Prologue and Chapter 1

  
.

House thought the little relationship pothole in the road was filled in, but not so. Life didn't speed along on cruise control.

Wilson was changing. He was like an addict around that book. He'd insist he needed to read a few pages as soon as he walked in the door or before going to bed.

"Give me five minutes,” he would say. It was like some mantra.

But it was never five. It could easily expand into five hours if House didn't complain. Bags from the market sat on the counter untouched. Hot foods became cold, and cold food warm.

One night, after House escorted the spoiled, orphaned groceries to the garbage, he picked up the phone to order delivery. While he waited on hold he asked, "Have you given up cooking? I can live with that, but I draw the line at paying."

Wilson snarled and with a leap tore the handset away from House, barking, "Who's asking you to? Tell me what you want."

_Wilson...snarled._

Then, he was back to the book.

Even with TiVo and fast forwarding at triple speed through hamburger, car, and mascara commercials, House could tell when Wilson became bored. He'd leaf through the book.

There was the whole sex and invisibility thing. As in, not happening.

After experiencing sex with the invisible man, House had encouraged him to repeat the spell, but Wilson feigned indifference. At first, House wondered if his Dracula buddy was afraid of accidentally draining him. But something else was going on. Sometimes he could see Wilson poring over the charm's passages over and over. More than a few times he walked into the living room and Wilson was whispering an incantation with his eyes shut, only to quickly open them and immediately check if his body was there or not.

That first late-night incident was not the last. The "one-off" had become a habit. Not coming home until the early hours was the rule and not the exception, but there were two variations on the theme. Either Wilson stayed out until 2 AM or he sneaked out of the apartment around that time to return before dawn.

The dark circles were back under Wilson's eyes. Relieved to know the late nights were not an indicator of unfaithfulness, House clearly believed the fatigue was caused by a different reason, but he didn't know what was the source. Even co-workers noticed the affable doctor looked tired, and recommended that he cut back his hours.

But whatever was going on in that floppy-haired head went deeper than sleep deprivation. House's sudden and unexpected assaults on Wilson in his office allowed him to glimpse a hollow and haunted look emanating from the dark brown orbs that would suddenly disappear into a mock scowl at the disturbance.

Their lovemaking sessions were cursory. Barely enough to sustain an afterglow for House or energy for Wilson. The athletics would end with a light kiss and a murmured excuse as Wilson complained that he couldn't sleep and didn't want to disturb him before sliding from under the blankets and taking off to the living room to read.

Later, when House went into the living room, he'd discover Wilson wasn't reading. The book was where he last saw it, on the coffee table, and a sweep over the couch proved that Wilson wasn't hiding behind an invisibility spell. There was only one simple conclusion. Wilson had left the apartment.

It didn't happen once. It happened several times a week, and always after House was tipsy from a nip and sip to his neck.

Suspicion raised its head again. A little voice inside him nagged that Wilson did not really love him. Love was only a way of controlling him. Wilson was hiding something.

He decided to follow and see where Wilson was going, but it was difficult. Wilson moved at vampire speed. House pondered where could his partner go after two in the morning? Bars were closed, and since Wilson barely cooked anymore, he was not hanging out at 24-hour markets.

House began keeping tabs on the Volvo's odometer.

The gauge proved to be the same caliber liar as Wilson, with the mileage differing night after night--anywhere from ten to fifty miles. The only way he could know where he went would be to follow him, but if Wilson was taking precautions he would be checking their connection, and House would be discovered as fast as an ice cream truck on a summer day.

He needed outside help.

* * *

 

"Lucas."

"House."

It was almost a year since he had seen the quirky little guy, but nothing had changed. The bright blue eyes shined out from a scruffy face. The stubble and casual attire still his trademark.

They met at Sharrie's. Shades of sorrow still glimmered in Wilson's eyes whenever Amber's name came up, so the bar was a safe place not to bump into him.

"I have a small job for you."

"That doesn't change the retainer. Five thousand dollars." Lucas spoke up.

Stung as if he were burned, House said, "This job's not coming near to that. I want you to stake out Wils--. Strike that. Follow Wilson wherever he goes."

"Did you kill off another of his girlfriends?" The blue eyes sparkled.

"No, you idiot. If his current love interest died, you wouldn't be sitting here. You would be at my funeral."

"Congratulations. The two of you finally figured out what most of PPTH knew already. You guys were made for each other. Don't tell me you're still worried about what he's doing?" Lucas was incredulous.

House inwardly sighed. Lucas had a point. Romantically involved or not, House couldn't kick his pangs of distrust. "You'd have to use your ice cream truck to actually sell ice cream if no one was jealous. What's your special 'repeat customer' discount?"

Lucas smiled but shook his head in the negative. "Different case, same rate."

"A honeymooner discount?"

"Sorry, House." The face kept shaking and smiling like a bobble head with a loose neck.

"Then do your best to earn it." House insisted.

"If you want, I'll start tonight."

"Go to the hospital. Wilson said he'd be working late."

They negotiated a few more details, and Lucas left, sticking House with the bar bill as well.

No doubt about it, Lucas was no substitute for Wilson.

House sat back and took his time finishing his drink. No one was going to be home, so why not stay as long as he wanted.

* * *

 

House was surprised when a waitress arrived with another glass of bourbon and placed it on the table. "It's from the gentleman sitting at the bar."

First knocking back half the contents in the glass, House looked over at the dark-haired man with dark eyes, wearing a casual green shirt.

_How did Wilson follow him here? Had he seen him with Lucas?_

He mentally shook his head. It couldn't be Wilson, but the resemblance was amazing. He was curious...and interested. He was annoyed to be sidelined as a mere second string player in Wilson's life, and felt reckless. If Wilson had other interests, why shouldn't he?

The Wilson clone flirted, raising his glass and eyeing him from across the room. House could feel his heart race.

House returned a speculative stare, and the man smiled charmingly as he stood up and threaded his way through the crowd towards him.

As the man came closer the resemblance faded, falling away like a mask at a costume party. While the hair, cheekbones, and lips were similar, they were not as sharply defined as Wilson's. The eyes were hazel, not chocolate brown, and the man looked much younger, like he was in his mid-twenties.

"Hey. You look familiar. Have we ever met? My name is Alex."

"It depends. Have you or your family nearly died from some mysterious disease?"

"Excuse me?" The voice cracked. "Has there been a bird flu epidemic I didn't hear about?"

"No, you idiot. If it was the bird flu it wouldn't be a mystery, would it?"

Alex beamed a disarming smile and laughed. "I sell life insurance. You don't want to be in my business when the grim reaper pulls a Waco. If you have insider information about any pandemic outbreak, I'd be grateful to hear about it." He paused and made puppy dog eyes worthy of Wilson. "Very grateful."

House was fascinated. This Alex not only looked but also sounded much like Wilson. The expressions. The timbre of his voice. Besides the different eye color, all that was missing was Wilson's dimple.

"You're not related to any Wilsons, are you? Have two brothers? One you haven't seen for years?"

A heavy eyebrow wiggled as the eyes narrowed, intent on getting House's drift. "I have two sisters, but neither had sex change operations, and unless Cassel is German for Wilson, no."

While intrigued, House was getting an uncomfortable vibe off the guy--as if he was trying too hard to please. He decided to beat a retreat.

"If all the members in your family are healthy, then I’m all out of superpowers. Gotta go. Hear my cross-town bus approaching."

The open face looked disappointed. "I'm here for a few days at a sales convention in Atlantic City and wanted to see Princeton. Don't have much to do if you don’t want to stay and drink with me. I’d be happy to give you a lift."

The warm golden eyes were smoldering. "Or if you want, we can go back to my hotel room. My company paid for a suite. You should really come up and see the view."

Barely biting back a smile, House answered, "Nice to be hit on, but I have to turn you down."

Some part of him wondered if this Wilson impersonation went more than skin deep. Were the personalities similar? House thought he'd play the cripple card, and waved his cane in Alex's face. "I'm probably not what you're looking for."

House thought there was a flicker of surprise, but Alex recovered quickly, and lightly rubbed imaginary dust from House's jacket, displaying care and understanding. "No. From the moment I saw you from the bar, I knew you were exactly what I wanted." Clearing his throat, he went on, "Well, if you change your mind, or if you want insurance and don't plan on getting shot or get into any bus accidents, here's my card. Give me a call."

"Been there, done that." House responded, amused to see question marks reflected among green flakes in the man's irises. He gave a brief nod and walked to the exit. Concerned and appraising eyes followed him to the door.

A part of House felt sad. The guy seemed innocent and sincere. When they first met, Wilson was like that, but he'd acquired an edge after all the years of dealing with House's snark and pain.

Shrugging it off, House accepted what is, and not what was.

He'd bet this guy couldn't become invisible.

 

[ ](http://www.statcounter.com/myspace/)


	3. Chapter 3

While House was meeting with Lucas, Wilson was at the hospital. To his staff he wore a mask with an undercoat of civility, lacquered with kindness.

Making an informal round of his patients, he chatted to those who were lucid and to the family members of those who were not. He smiled warmly until he thought his mouth would break off, while all the time his eyes discreetly checked monitors, drips, and charts.

He'd lost two more patients unexpectedly today. They never had a chance of walking out of the hospital, but they should have had more time.

Enough for family to come from out of town to mend rifts and say goodbye. Closure. He hated seeing his patients cheated of any time they had left.

Of much less importance, but nonetheless troubling, was that these cases would eventually drive the department's mortality rate straight off his computer monitor. If he couldn't get a handle about what was going on, he'd be taken to task by the board. He didn't like black marks on his personnel file.

He couldn't zero in on what was going on. He carefully reviewed the medications he prescribed. There was a fine line between a discrete increase in a morphine drip for an end-stage terminal patient and the sudden death of one with a few more weeks or months to live. Was drug tampering going on? Was he in any way responsible?

He wanted to get to the bottom of this and stop it. Even if he discovered he was the source of the errors in judgment.

And then there was 12-year-old foster child, Chelsea, who was brought in for bruises. Social workers were investigating, but the girl's foster parents appeared sincerely concerned, asking every day if it was all right for them to visit. The diagnosis absolved them, but brought bad news with it. Chelsea was diagnosed with leukemia. Before the treatments could show a positive effect, she suddenly died.

When Wilson arrived in the morning, he found her report on his desk. The attending had signed off on the time of death and cause. After the recent spate of premature deaths, he felt an urgent need to go down to the morgue and see her body. In life she was pale, and Wilson expected her to be more so in death, but he froze when he saw the colorless, waxy features and the light gray of her lips.

These were the signs of a body drained of blood.

When the attendant left him with her, he carefully moved the head from side to side. Two close pinpricks were at the base of the neck.

He could only think one thing: _My God. I'm a monster._

He recoiled at the thought. He had no recollection of sucking her blood or wanting to. There was little nutrition to be extracted from blood with a heavy white-cell count, but who else could it be? As much as he didn't want to believe it, he had to consider himself a suspect.

_Why?_

Physically, he did feel more drained than normal, tired, and irritable even though he was regularly nipping at House's neck.

At times he spaced out when he was reading the book, realizing he worked through a paragraph of gibberish not to remember anything and have to start again.

Perhaps he was entertaining bigger memory gaps than that.

Could the book have something to do with it?

He'd hoped to unlock secrets to his vampire abilities, but he received paltry results for his trouble only becoming invisible the one time. Did the book and spells exacerbate his situation? Could the charm be the source of his trouble? Strengthening his bloodlust, while his human side atrophied?

That spell was causing him no end of problems. After that one night in the apartment, he never duplicated the effect, but never quite shook it.

The other day while at his desk, jotting down notes, his left hand became tingly, and his fingers turned transparent. Blinking his eyes, the digits were once again solid. He sat back in his chair, convinced it was only an illusion caused by a lack of sleep.

Now he had to consider the tingling a warning sign that he wasn't in control of his own body.

No way would he discuss any of this with House. Of prime importance to Wilson was protecting him. If he was a murderer, suspicion would surely be cast upon the curmudgeon, so it was imperative to keep a distance.

He tried avoiding him. Not easy to do when they lived together and worked at the same hospital, but he made it happen. He devised intricate schedules with consults and meetings that made seeing each other for lunch difficult.

He could see the headlines and hear the newscasters: _Dr. Lugosi Stalks Hospital._

House wasn't the only one he needed to safeguard. There was his clan. If a prison doctor didn't uncover that he manipulated his heartbeat or had no reason to breathe, his lack of a blood diet would.

If his physical attributes came to light, he could be endangering the Dark Community. Even living on the periphery of that underworld, he was loyal to his clan, La Famiglia.

If he couldn't get his urges under control, then he'd have to rely on old-fashioned remedies: Fire, decapitation, or a stake through the heart.

Unless something new came to light, or at least until he got up the courage to do what he must, he played Javert to his own Jean Valjean, dogging his own steps, double-checking his own treatments, going from patient to patient trying to avoid any resemblance to a vulture.

So far, he'd flown under the radar, except with House. He tried keeping him distracted and satiated with sex before sneaking back to the hospital; however, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck suggested otherwise. That House was on to him.

But at least his vigil was working. For the last five days, no one had died suddenly. Perhaps the nightmare was over, and he could find out how to atone for Chelsea.

* * *

 

Lucas kept a low profile. Night after night he tailed Wilson. First, in his car, then dressed as an orderly at the hospital.

He watched closely, taking stock of what was going on and the people around him.

House wasn't going to like what he had to tell him.

* * *

 

"You're not going to like what I have to tell you," Lucas began, as he offered House an ice cream.

They were sitting in his truck while Lucas was doing surveillance on the wife of a new client.

"Don't tell me you blew through the retainer in three days." The mint ice cream managed to taste like vanilla against House's tongue. The money wasn't ruining his appetite. The pained expression on Lucas's face was.

"That and more." The detective trained his binoculars on the house for a moment before continuing. "How much additional mileage did you say Wilson was racking up on his car? Ten to fifty plus miles? He must be on to you. The hospital is only five miles away.

"When he leaves the apartment, he always drives directly to the hospital. After, he either goes directly home, or cruises around neighborhoods. Bad ones. Sometimes he travels to Trenton's seedier sections of town, but he never leaves his car."

House nodded without bothering to explain. When Wilson had troubling cases or felt guilty, he'd unwind by driving. Heading out to the haunts where he had last seen his brother or cruising through similar rundown areas. Old habits die hard, however, and even after finding Daniel, Wilson still sought out these neighborhoods when he was upset.

"That accounts for the mileage, but what's he doing at PPTH in the middle of the night? He spends all his days there. Is he seeing someone?" House prodded.

Lucas didn't meet his eyes. "Not anyone at the hospital. Sometimes, before going home he stops at an all-night coffee shop, The Broken Yoke."

Recognizing the name, House nodded. This boded no good. If Wilson had a choice, he'd rather not eat.

Lucas tickled some papers in his file, and handed over a photo. "He met with this woman. Blonde, around fifty, good-looking. She must have been a knockout when she was younger."

"She was." House answered as he looked at the picture of Wilson and a blonde sitting in a booth, each with cups in front of them. He'd bet the woman had no more interest in the mug's contents than Wilson.

The woman was Zehava, a vamp, and Wilson's sire.

As far as he knew, she never visited Wilson. She loathed him.

Wilson pointed to his relationship with her as the prime reason why he wouldn't turn House. They would most likely hate each other the same way Zehava reacted to her baby boy wonder. Some kind of hard-coded survival principle.

"You know her?" Lucas asked.

House couldn't explain about the "Come as You Were Vampire Ball" he attended nearly a year ago as Wilson's "plus one." Everyone was required to show up exactly the way they looked when they first were embraced. He felt like a lecher standing next to his med student "Master." And Zehava could have passed for Wilson's younger sister. Beautiful and vivacious, but tough as nails.

"We're acquainted. I've seen...photos. She was one of Wilson's instructors in medical school." That tidbit was true. "I know for a fact, Wilson's not having an affair with her."

Before Lucas challenged the statement, House queried, "Are you sure there's no one at the hospital? Male or female?"

Lucas shrugged. "All he does there is visit patients. When he claims he's staying late, he is. The most you can accuse him of is borderline obsessive behavior."

This wasn't what House reckoned to hear. "He's doing rounds in the middle of the night?"

"Um, yes." Lucas looked reluctant to go on.

"You're hiding something. So far, you've only earned half the money I paid you. Continue," House urged.

"I know this sounds crazy, but one moment, he's in with a patient, and then I lose him. It's as if he's on speed or becomes invisible."

"And you want me to pay you for not keeping a private eye on him?" House did his best Balki impression. "Don't be ree-deek-you-lus." But it was only to cover up how worried he was.

Was Wilson being reckless and moving at mystical warp speed or was he using the goddamned invisibility spell?

Lucas had gone back to the binoculars, but turned and looked at the doctor, "'Goddamn' what? What'd you say?"

Knowing he hadn't uttered the last part out loud, House wondered if the detective had inherited vampire hunter instincts from a slayer mother or hunter father as he had. That could explain why Lucas chose a career as a gumshoe, and why House couldn't help but like him. Kindred spirits.

"I said, you haven't earned your retainer. You made it sound like there was something to worry about. All I'm worried about is wasting my money."

Lucas put the binoculars down and rustled through some folders, handing him one. "Figured Wilson was concerned about his patients, so I compiled weekly patient lists for the last two months on each doctor in his department. You'll see a red checkmark next to the name of anyone who died. Here, review this. Look at the change in the last few weeks."

Shuffling through the papers, House saw that the first three weeks were the norm for an oncology department. More deaths than most other specialties, but unremarkable for cancer.

His eyes followed down the column. In the last four weeks there was a cluster of red marks next to the names of Wilson's patients, but recently the red marks tapered off. Everything back to normal.

"A spike in deaths can happen. People don't die by appointment." House remarked.

"Sure, but this isn't emergency, House, with train or car wrecks skewing the numbers. Look at what's happened in the last week, and compare it to this." Lucas handed over another couple of pages with metrics for the last two years.

An unusual number of red ticks appeared on the other attendings' patient lists.

The spike didn't go away. It shifted.

He compared the last five week's numbers with the previous two years. The current numbers were excessive.

House felt like he just dry swallowed a whole bottle of Vicodin. The pills and the vial. "What do you make of this?"

The sparkle was out of Lucas's eyes. "I think you've got yourself a serial killer stalking the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro, and the number one suspect is Wilson."

* * *

 

The next day, having sent the kiddies to do more tests on his current patient, House had a moment to do some checking on his computer.

While he looked up names from the list Lucas provided, he couldn't help think about the end of their conversation.

House convinced the detective to give him a few more days before tipping off the newspapers or police.

House continued to make noises that cancer didn't play by the rules. "Give me time to check on the patients' conditions for myself, and see if I can learn more from Wilson."

The rundown on the patients was not encouraging. While some were naturally declining and hadn't long to live, there were too many others who should have lingered longer.

He did not want to, but he needed to confront Wilson.

* * *

 

Wilson's office door ruptured sunlight as House poured through the balcony door.

"We have to talk."

"It's not mutual, House. I'm busy. Leave the way you came in. I have a new patient arriving in five minutes, and I've got to finish reviewing the tests." Wilson looked up as he stopped writing notes.

"You don't need an additional five minutes. You've been looking at the same file for an hour. I've been watching you from my office.

"What's so special about this patient? Either you tell 'em they're gonna live but be so sick from the cure they're gonna wish they died, or you're gonna keep them drugged out of their mind until they slip off their mortal coil. No other option, is there?"

Wilson wasn't in the mood for this brand of macabre humor. As a matter of fact, it seemed to hit a nerve. Standing up and placing his hands on his hips, he didn't go into a harangue about House's insensitivity. He simply said, "Get out."

It could be the connection between them, but House sensed there was more to the abrupt invitation to leave. A chill went through him, and he felt impelled to push his point. "Those are the only two possibilities for your new patient. Am I right?"

"For once, no.” Wilson was careful to explain the condition in general terms. “The cancer is stage one, and the patient lives closer to Princeton General, so I'm referring her to Parks." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Now leave."

Returning to the balcony door, House spoke over his shoulder. "We still have to talk."

As he crossed over the half-wall he started to question what Wilson told him. Why brood for over an hour about transferring a patient to another hospital?

He didn't like the answer.

* * *

 

4:47 AM

From the recesses of the dark bedroom House could hear the front door quietly croon on its hinges.

There were light taps from the soles of French shoes coming into the apartment. The footfalls stopped. Paused. When the scuffling began again, the sound receded.

The front door sighed in frustration as the lock clicked shut.

_Damn it!_ House dashed to the living room, and turned on the light. No sign of Wilson. Only a bag of groceries in the kitchen with a note.

_Need time alone to think. Sorry._

Wilson's dropping off groceries and leaving was troubling.

Wilson needing time to think was worse.

Wilson saying he was sorry--that was just plain bad news.

House had to find him before it was too late.

* * *

 

The hammering on the door went on forever. Wilson called down to hotel management advising them that a lunatic was banging on his door, but they ignored him.

Damn the connection between them. Just as he could tap into House's energy to locate him, House could do the same, but on a lesser scale.

Surrendering, he unlocked the door and gestured for House to come in.

Taking command of the conversation and the room as if he paid for it with his own credit card, House didn't miss a beat, deciding to bypass more serious issues and start where they left off yesterday afternoon. "You're locking yourself in your office all day and never coming home at night. I said we have to talk. Do you want to start, or should I?"

Silently walking past him, Wilson clicked on the TV and slumped into a chair, staring at the set, completely ignoring him.

House began to pace. "Fine. I'll begin. You've been behaving strangely--not that anyone would notice. I mean, you successfully hid the fact that you're a vampire for over fifteen years."

Wilson turned, raising one quizzical eyebrow at House.

"And I'm the most happy fella' to be your partner and minion. After all, you have to be superhuman to put up with me. I live to disobey."

Wilson looked back at the set.

"But, dude, you are outdoing yourself in the odd behavior department."

Wilson's eyes concentrated on an infomercial.

"Have nothing to say? What if I tell you I know that you're in touch with Zehava, your patients are dying left and right, and you look like crap?"

That got a rise. Wilson was the picture child of misery as he shut off the set. "This is none of your business."

"The hell it isn't. There's a spike in deaths for you and other doctors. I'm concerned that the same will happen to me. At fifty or so patients a year, Cuddy wouldn't be tolerant about letting me hang out with Coma Guy if I lost more than two or three."

Now he had Wilson's attention. His stark white attention.

"No. It can't be."

Pulling the papers Lucas had given him from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, House threw it onto the table for Wilson to see. He chose the opposite chair as the oncologist rifled through the pages with his fingers.

House expected a wide-eyed look of surprise on Wilson's face. Instead the universe ripped open and out spilled its guts.

Wilson dragged his hand over his eyes. "House, I'm out of control. I've become a murderer."

 

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	4. Chapter 4

.

"What makes you so sure you're a murderer? I mean besides being partial to biting people and drinking their blood?" House asked, while his blue eyes studied Wilson intently.

Wilson shrugged. "A card-carrying member of the living dead is enough explanation for most."

"But not for me. You have no memory of killing anyone, right?" House watched as Wilson stood up and wore a path out of the industrial-grade carpet.

There was a curt nod.

"Then what's your proof that you committed these crimes?"

"They're either my patients, or patients in my department. Does any of your information contain details about a young female patient who had leukemia?"

House noted Wilson was on the verge of hysteria, but it was erupting in little ways--nervous energy, darting eyes, and his voice rising in pitch.

Tapping his fingers at the base of his neck, Wilson explained, "She didn't die of the disease, but from blood loss."

"Only one person died that way?"

"I suppose I got hungry in the middle of my murder spree. Are you disappointed there aren't more?" Wilson answered, exasperated.

"Well, why not more blood lettings? Why kill patients prematurely with overdoses?" House reasoned.

"Because, because...I don't know!" Wilson stopped and waved his arms, stammering, "I-I'm afraid it's the book. The invisibility charm. It changed me, somehow. People started dying after I began reading it."

House bounced his cane on the floor. "If I watch a monster truck rally, I don't go out and run people over with my car."

Wilson barked out a laugh. "No, only my Luminox watch to see if it was unbreakable. It wasn't, and you still owe me, by the way."

"Which proves my point," House calmly explained. "You have plenty of reasons to want to kill me, but you haven't. No book or spell is going to make you a murderer.

"Let's call it even on the watch when I clear you." House offered.

"Wait. You're saying I'm innocent?" Wilson looked like he never considered the possibility.

House answered, "I'd never call you innocent, Jimmy. You cheated on three wives, including me, and you're a first-class liar, but you're not a murderer. The only one you are likely to kill is yourself."

The blue eyes became ice blue lasers, as House's tone turned hard. "Where is it? Give it to me."

Crossing his arms protectively over his chest, Wilson shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

They were at an impasse. Neither was giving in.

"Give it to me, or I'll rip this room to pieces finding it. I promise you won't succeed, and all you'll have to show for tonight is a whopping hotel bill," House threatened.

The deadlock between them felt like half an eternity, but the match finally turned in House’s favor. Without saying a word, Wilson went to the bed, pulled an object from under the pillow, and handed it to House. Most people glancing at it would think it a gardening tool, but it was a weapon. Ancient and yet high tech. A brushed metal handle, smooth and sensuous to the touch, fitted with a thin, long, four-sided blade crafted from polished walnut. House ran his thumb gingerly over the point.

The end was so sharp it pierced his skin and drew blood before he felt the sting.

This was no wooden shard from a broken broomstick.

"Where did you get this?" House demanded.

"Zehava." Wilson whispered, and turned away.

Holding the weapon steadily against the table, House slammed his cane down and destroyed a good two inches off the tip.

He rose, went over, and stood behind Wilson's hunched shoulders and quietly said, "Let's go home."

* * *

 

"How did Zehava get in the picture?"

Once they were back at the apartment, House was relentless. He wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery as fast as possible. Other lives were at risk, and so was his partner's.

"I called her."

"Thought you didn't know how to reach her?" Pushed House.

Looking exhausted, Wilson sat on the couch clinging to the spell book as if it were a life raft. Dark shadows pooled under his eyes, and he kept blinking to focus.

"There...are ways," Wilson answered listlessly.

"So, she came. Just like that?" House didn't let on that he already knew about the meeting in the coffee shop. He wanted to see how elaborately Wilson would lie.

"Yeah. Told her I was in danger of being exposed. You don't say that sort of thing unless it's true, and if one vampire's discovered, all the rest are at risk."

"So she cheerfully brought you a weapon of body mass destruction?"

"That's about it," Wilson replied glumly.

"She's such a nurturer." House rolled his eyes. "You sure have a knack for picking women."

"Which you never tire of reminding me." Wilson asked quietly, "Can we drop this? I'd like to read for a while--"

House lost his patience, prying the filthy thing from Wilson's hands. "We're back to the book. You think the invisibility spell got you into this mess, but you can't let go of it. You're like an internet addict. Dude, that book's not worthy. It doesn't have any dirty pictures."

"House!" Wilson tried grabbing it away, but couldn't get it.

Holding the volume out of Wilson's reach, House said, "You can have your fix after answering all my questions. If we're dealing with a vampire, I know it's not you. What about Zehava? Could she be setting you up? There's no love lost between you."

Wilson rose from the couch. They were face-to-face. "How do you know it's not me?"

"I've been doing some snooping, and I went down to the morgue before leaving the hospital this evening. Checked the bodies of the last two patients in your department who died prematurely. One had faint fang marks on the neck which no one would have noticed unless they knew what to look for, and this was wadded up in the hand." House handed over a crumpled piece of heavy paper. "Notice anything missing, Jimmy?"

Wilson smoothed out the paper and saw that it was a black-and-white snapshot.

"Why, that's from my oncology Halloween party for the ki--"

He stopped when he saw his costume. For the last couple of celebrations he dressed in a top hat and tails. It served double purpose. It lent an air of authority as master of ceremonies for the evening and was appropriate attire for his humble magician’s act.

There he was...or wasn't. There was the elegant tux, and right above it was the top hat. In between there was nothing. He shivered involuntarily.

House explained. "Taken with an old-fashioned film camera. Not digital. Since the negative uses a coating of fine silver particles to record images--"

"--I didn't show up in the photo. It's especially distinctive in black-and-white photography. With almost everyone using digital, I don't worry about dodging cameras anymore unless I see those disposable ones sitting on tables at weddings and bar mitzvahs. Then I plead hospital emergency and make my escape."

"But someone knew about you. Who else would take black-and-white photos at a colorful costume party? They wanted others to know too. It was a calling card from whomever is framing you."

Wilson sat down, stunned and relieved. "This means it wasn't me."

"Damned right. It was never you." House left no doubts when he said it.

House sat at the other end of the sofa, propping his long legs on top the coffee table, he continued nonchalantly, "Is Zehava still in town?"

"As far as I know. She's visiting a friend at the hospital. You don't suspect her, do you?" Wilson shot back a glare.

House answered. "Why not? She has a medical degree. Knows her way around a hospital. Not to mention, she fills up a lab coat nicely. The most loving thing she's ever done is support your decision to off yourself." House kept his anger to a low simmer.

"Now wait a minute." Wilson stood up, his eyes snapping and his arms waving. "I've tried explaining this to you before. You have to understand most vampires can't stand the sight of each other, but that's normal. It's about territory. Spreads us out so we don't compete for the same food supply and become high profile."

"Yet she's lurking around the hospital."

"She's not lurking." Wilson responded, the three words shrouded in frustration.

"Shall we go over there and take a look?"

Wilson looked at his watch. "Sure. I should check on the patients. I'll get my jacket."

* * *

 

It was quiet in the hallways. Most patients were asleep or heavily sedated while Wilson made his unofficial rounds.

Fatigued, and fighting off that odd tingly sensation racing through his body, he was nonetheless relieved to know he wasn't the vampire who was on a killing spree. But now he worried about all the patients in his department.

Tonight he went room to room whether it was his case or not. He found a discrepancy in the dosage of a drip for a patient that was under the care of another oncologist. If not caught in time, the patient could have died. He checked the chart. Johnson had done his job correctly. Someone else was playing God.

As Wilson made a mental note to tell House about it and moved on to the next room, House was combing the halls for Zehava.

He found her bending over a microscope in the blood lab.

Blocking the entrance, House directed his caustic remarks to her. "Well, look who joined the staff at Princeton-Plainsboro. Don't expect a warm welcome from me. And don't plan on replacing Wilson with a new childe in the near future. He's still can be counted among the living 'undead.'"

The mature blonde beauty was on him before he saw her get up from the stool. Her aquamarine eyes were framed by lush lashes and set in a flawless complexion molded to exquisite cheekbones. Her vanity would not allow too much age to creep into her features except for a softening around her jawline.

"You! Why don't you keep your mouth shut, and watch over your boyfriend!" she shrilled.

House winced and gave her a cool smile. He'd forgotten The Voice. A thousand cats locked up in a closet for twenty-four hours would sound sweeter than this woman.

"How am I supposed to watch over him when you're having a secret late-night rendezvous? That stake was some sweet weapon you gave him." House countered.

Her expression showed contempt, but she lowered her voice. "I'm guessing he didn't use it?"

"No. No thanks to you." House hoped his eyes didn't betray any anguish at the thought of arriving at Wilson's hotel only to find a dress shirt, slacks, and a tie smothering a heap of dust.

"You don't have to thank me. I knew he'd never go through with it. He's too soft." Zehava's voice was filled with contempt.

House wanted to shake her by the shoulders. "Listen, Akasha of the Damned. Don't mix up good with soft. I know from past experience that he's willing to fall on his sword."

"James? I don't believe you."

House looked around the room. "Where did all the techs go? Did you manufacture an excuse to get them out of here so you could have a tasty snack?"

He walked over to the microscope she was using. Under the clips was a slide of a blood sample from an oncology patient. The label indicated the doctor was Elliott. One of the names on Lucas's list.

"No. Only Dr. Brunelesky is working tonight, and she is a friend of mine," Zehava answered with her usual cold demeanor. "She stepped out for a moment, and I was poking around. I'm sure you know from Wilson that my specialty is hematology."

"Wilson told you what's been going on?"

"It's unfortunate when an operative goes bad." She arrogantly answered.

House got into Zehava's face and spoke fearlessly. "Wilson has nothing to do with this, but what did you expect when you recruited him without his permission? He's a doctor, not a member of Mossad. I’m warning you. Don’t mess with my vampire.”

She narrowed her eyes as if she was viewing him through one of the microscopes. "You must be an idiot if you think I'm going to take a threat from a minion seriously. Let alone one of Wilson's. I'm going to stick around for a while to ensure that he doesn't bring attention to the Blood Families." She jotted a phone number on a piece of paper. "He can call me here. Let him know I have more stakes if he changes his mind and decides he wants one."

Clicking her heels out of the room, the stilettos typed a steady rhythm down the hallway until the sound faded away.

House muttered under his breath, "She makes the Wicked Witch of the West look like a candy striper."

He flipped open his cell phone, but before he could punch in Wilson's number, an attractive brunette walked in with a name badge that read "Dr. Brunelesky." She, too, was fond of high heels. He wondered if Cuddy hired women only after she checked out their closets.

"Dr. House? What are you doing here?"

Now was a good chance to test Zehava's honesty. "I was walking by and saw a person in your lab. I thought I knew her and came in."

"You mean Dr. Peterson? Where did she go?" The dark-haired woman scanned the equipment on the table as if she would find the blonde hiding behind a test tube.

"Said she had enough of me, and left. I'm sure she'll be back when I'm not around."

Deciding that was a good enough exit line as any, he headed for the door. As he turned the corner, he smiled when he overheard the brunette quietly complain to the empty air, "I'm sure she did, and I'm sure she will. She's no fool."

* * *

 

When House was safely away, he tried calling Wilson's number one more time. It only rang once before it was picked up. "I found out all I wanted to know. Are you ready to leave? I'll meet you at the car."

House reflected on his discussion with Zehava. He despised her. He didn't doubt that he always would. She was nobody's favorite. Wilson barely tolerated her and she was his sire.

Loathsomeness was almost her signature trait. The woman you loved to hate.

But after speaking to her, and for all her brash heartlessness, he didn't sense the cruelty of a murderer within her.

The first thing she did was throw back in his face his failure to protect Wilson. He'd never expected to hear that from her.

But if she wasn't the night stalker doing the deed, who was?

He was back to square one.

 

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	5. Chapter 5

  
.

_**A/N:** Glossary at the end of the chapter for Yiddish words used in this chapter._

.

"We should speak to Stanka."

Wilson groaned. "Not the gypsy."

On the drive home they shared all the information they gathered at the hospital. They were in agreement on several points: a vampire was stalking the hospital and targeting cancer patients. The creature had a medical background, knew Wilson was a vampire, and wanted him blamed for the deaths.

While Zehava fit the profile perfectly, House reluctantly agreed with Wilson that she wasn't the murdering stalker.

"What the hell is going on? You can't spit in any direction without hitting a domesticated vampire," House complained.

"That’s why I always keep a spare shirt and tie handy,” Wilson deadpanned, while waiting for the light to turn green.

“It doesn't make any sense, House. I’ve never come across one of my kind in the Princeton area before.”

House returned to his original topic. "Why not Stanka? You know her nose knows when there is a vampire nearby." Not the most sensible of choices, but he was all for pragmatic solutions. "Besides, she's a hoot, and owns that bombshell of a car."

Wilson made a sour expression. "That's the reason you want to see her. You’re itching to ride in her Lamborghini while I trail behind in the Volvo."

"Her taste in automobiles rules, bro. Your choice in cars sucks." House looked over to see if Wilson was appreciating his humor. Didn't look like it. Wilson didn't look too well, either. He probably needed a V8, and not the type that was found under the hood of a car or that comes in a can. The kind a 'V'ampire ‘ate.’

Keeping his eyes trained on the road, Wilson answered, "My choice in cars is practical. It's dangerous for me to get in accidents. The coroner will pronounce me DOA if I'm knocked unconscious."

"I'm surprised you drive at all."

"You've proven buses aren't safe, either. I'll take my chances in a vehicle built for safety." Wilson looked at the clock on the dash. "It's almost 4:30 in the morning. You don't plan to speak to her now, do you? She might turn us into frogs if we knock on her door at this hour. We're both off tomorrow, and I'm all in. How about we speak to Stanka later today?"

For the second time that evening they were in agreement.

When they walked in the door of the apartment, House spoke in a deep, sexy voice. "What you need is _Prescription Passion_ from this Dr. Love to make you feel better."

Wilson grimaced. "Ugh. Don't ever say that again. You sound like a late-night disc jockey."

Making a beeline for the ancient book, he stretched out his legs on the cushions and began thumbing through the pages.

House was about to commence warfare, when Wilson idly said, "Let me know when you're ready and I'll join you."

"Read up on the chapter with Dracula's supplemental notes for the Kama Sutra. I'll call you in five minutes." House let his suggestion soak into Wilson's consciousness before leaving the room, but it looked like the hint may have bounced right off him. The head was already concealed behind the tome.

* * *

 

"Wilson! Jimmy! Hey, you scum sucker! Come to bed!" House yelled. He was fed up with that vampire handbook stealing Wilson away from him. He'd burn it in his fireplace if he didn't think its powers would turn his home into an express train to hell.

Wilson's voice was coming from inside his head. _"Five more minutes, and I'll suck on you, my precious scum. Be right there."_

The bastard couldn't be bothered moving his lips when he was engrossed in that volume of rotting vellum.

House turned on the light and picked up a medical journal from the nightstand.

He soon fell fast asleep.

He woke up to Wilson nuzzling and coaxing him out of his hot dream. He was having wild gorilla sex with him as a million monkeys looked on, typing notes into their computers. Three had variations that would be worth exploring....

"Wilson, whadya say we include chocolate dipped frozen bananas the next time you and I..." House mumbled, as he wrapped his arms around his partner's body.

Coming fully awake with a start, he realized Wilson's body was collapsing under his embrace.

His arms were encircling a pillow and not a torso. Frustrated, he threw the damn bag of feathers across the room.

The clock dial was the only other face in the room, mocking him and his missing partner. Two hours had passed and Wilson had not joined him.

What the hell was he up to?

_"House."_

The voice was quiet but pleading, and calling from inside his head. Wilson's voice usually warmed his heart, but not this time.

_"Help."_

This time, the sound chilled it. The words were nothing more than a whisper within a seashell.

"Wilson. Where the fuck are you?!" House shouted.

_"Hou..."_

Jumping out of the bed, House froze as a burning pain screamed through his leg. He kneaded his thigh as he limped out of the room.

As he walked down the hall, he spied legs sprawled out on the floor.

Wilson's name involuntarily tore from his throat when he saw the man spread-eagled.

And then...Wilson disappeared.

"Jimmy!"

House kneeled next to where he last glimpsed the body....

And the brown eyes were looking straight at him. Wilson's hand reached for his, but before he could grab it, the image--body and clothes, vanished.

"What the hell is happening?" House growled.

"Jimmy. Come back. Speak to me."

Nothing.

House waited, counting the seconds. Seconds turned into minutes.

House stretched his hand out to where Wilson had been, and the air felt thick and cool, as if his hand were moving through water. He quickly pulled it away. What if he was stirring and mixing up Wilson's molecules with his shirt? He sat and waited.

Then with a blissful wink of a cat's eye, Wilson returned, but a twilight version made up of vapor. Pulsing atoms from his body collided and gave off sparks of energy.

He saw the vampire's mouth work, but no sound issued from it. Wilson scrunched his eyes closed in some immortal effort. All was silence until House heard....

_"Call Zehava."_

Fear gripped his belly, "Why? So she can mop the floor with your dust? Damn it, Wilson, so help me, I'll do the job myself in order to end your obsessive fear of becoming a nosferatu."

Not that House didn't blame him after experiencing the maw of horror firsthand at the vampire's ball.

Slow, hesitant words broke into the nightmarish memory.

_"She...can...help."_

"Help? Help you how?" As dire as the situation was, House wasn't convinced about calling in the bitch queen.

He tried to lift Wilson into a sitting position, but his hands went right through him, sending charged shocks that felt like bees stinging his hands and forearms.

His touch caused Wilson's body to spasm, becoming less dense, and the firefly light reduced ten volts.

Minutes passed and the body's inner generator produced more energy. Wilson's lids once again drew down upon his eyes as he projected his thoughts.

_"Vampire."_

"Are you're telling me Zehava is a...vampire? Moron! Wasting your strength on yesterday's news." More calmly, he grumbled, "Ok. So it takes a vampire to help a vampire. Got it."

Not presented with any other option, House gritted his teeth as he pushed up from the floor, and searched for the nearest phone and the number Zehava gave him. He dialed and counted the rings, praying that she'd pick up. "Yes." The sharp tones of her voice sliced through the circuitry.

"I need you to come over."

"This better be important. I'm entertaining company."

"Not to me. You can get back to Brunelesky later." House lowered his voice, "Wilson's having some kind of crisis."

"What are you talking about?" the voice crackled through the receiver.

"He collapsed and his body isn't corporeal. Do you need any more reasons to move your sweet ass?"

House thought he heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

"You better bring one of those Italian engineered stakes," he said quietly before the line went dead.

In less than five minutes there was a knock on the door. He opened it wide for her to come in, but she just stood there impatiently tapping her foot. Her annoyance blossomed when she saw Wilson on the floor and urgently demanded, "Fool! Invite me in."

No sooner than House said, "Come--"

Then there was a whoosh of air and she was bending over the body.

House began walking the few steps into the living room when his leg began to protest. He grabbed one of the canes from the stand, and stood over the two of them.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing.

Zehava's hands stroked and caressed Wilson's face and body. House first thought it an act, and then he saw her lift his hand, placing it next to her cheek.

Wilson must have been right about calling her. The effect of Zehava's touch was the opposite of his own. As she made contact, Wilson's body appeared slightly more solid.

"I'm here, my childe. Everything will be all right," Zehava purred.

Carefully schooling his expression, House could barely stop his jaw from dropping as Zehava cooed and scooped Wilson up as if he were as light as a infant and carefully carried him into the bedroom.

House followed. Just as he was about to step over the threshold, the door slammed in his face. He could hear the bolt snap on the other side.

"If I ever find out that you're breast feeding him and you didn't let me watch there will be hell to pay!" House shouted through the wood barrier.

He stumped back to the living room, prostrated himself on the couch, stared up at the ceiling, and waited.

* * *

 

The sun rose and set before Zehava left the bedroom. She padded out in her stockinged feet, looking less than her usual put-together self. Her blouse half-tucked into her form-fitting skirt.

"He's doing better," she announced.

"Can you make out the Spiderman sheets through his body?"

She nodded as she combed her hair away from her face with her fingers. "I can make out the thread count."

"Have you seen this before? What's wrong with him?"

Shrugging, she said, "Something similar once before. This is serious, House. Do you know what caused this?" Her eyes couldn't conceal her sadness.

House couldn't sit still. He began pacing up and down as he leaned heavily on his cane. Everything was falling apart. The connection. Wilson. Himself.

"It has to be that!" He pointed to the book on the coffee table. "That damned fucking, revoltingly butt-ugly, abomination of a book!"

He picked it up and threw it into her lap, continuing with his rant.

"The one that Wilson's glued to day and night. You'd think he was trying to pass a vampire bar exam the way he studies it. For a boy wonder he wasn't very successful. He was invisible only once...."

He stopped when she picked up the book in her hands, then dropped it as if she scorched her fingers.

Pointing his cane at it, "What's wrong?"

"Get me some gloves." Zehava demanded.

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a pair. He sat down beside her, watching her every move.

She didn't touch the volume until the gloves were firmly in place. She gingerly moved the book to the coffee table and wiped off her skirt as if the cover contaminated her clothes. After finishing the ritual, she concentrated her attention on the book, and began turning pages, gently prying apart many of the leaves. The paper was as thin as moth wings. Light filtered through the pages.

She tried the old trick of placing the book on its spine, and then letting go of the covers.

The book opened up to the invisibility spell.

She whispered under her breath, "Oy Gotenyu."

He'd never heard her speak Yiddish before.

"What?"

"This book looks hideous to you?" she asked.

"Like a rhino's sphincter." He confirmed.

Zehava tilted her head appraisingly, "Wilson told me you come from a line of vampire slayers and hunters. You see the book through different eyes from the rest of us."

She picked it up cautiously but reverently. "It's very beautiful. Hypnotizing. I can understand why Wilson couldn't stay away. It glows like a stained glass window in afternoon light." She reluctantly put it down. "Like a colorful Venus Flytrap. It's deadly."

House explained, "The Borgia. The Big Kahuna gave Wilson the book. We thought it was a reward, not some kind of cruel trick." Then he remembered. "It was wrapped."

The vamp nodded. "Someone must have found out about the gift. Doctored another copy and made a switch."

"This book was altered." House followed along with her.

"Yes. Harmless to you, but fatal to vampires if exposed to it for long amounts of time. It's coated in fine silver dust, and most likely a curse was added to enforce its destructive powers.

"See how the pages stick together?" She demonstrated by flipping back and forth the part about the invisibility spell. "The paper is so thin, it's difficult to tell. The spell begins on this page, with _‘Sa faca lux lucis…’_ but it appears to end over here with, _’Cruor mortii mos nunquam verto.’_ It doesn't. James was caught in between two spells."

"And he's too weak from the silver to fight it." House concluded.

"Someone was very devious. Add on the stress from losing patients and thinking he was responsible, it's hard to believe he's survived this long. Another vampire would have given up long ago," Zehava explained.

"Is it because he has a soul?" House asked.

Zehava looked surprised. "How did you find out? It was kept from him in our--"

She caught herself and stopped talking.

"In your what?" House demanded.

Her lips pursed.

House grabbed the book and brought it to her face. "Don't think I won't rub this into your creamy skin and give you razor burn. Finish what you were about to say."

"Our experiment." She bit each syllable out.

"With the world growing ever smaller, the Borgia Prince wanted to see if we couldn't create a more humane vampire. One that could function well in both the living and undead worlds. That's why James was given minimal supervision. When the Godfather saw fit, he gave him the book to see how well he could learn the spells on his own."

"But no one thought to check up on him before this," House replied bitterly.

"It was an experiment. You understand about outside influences. They contaminate studies. Besides, whenever I spoke to James, he always said everything was fine."

"Which is code for 'everything is fucked up,'" House pointed out.

Zehava sighed. "Everything but your relationship. You're insane, but I’m well aware that you look out for his best interests," she confessed.

"And he pays for mine. It works for us," House asserted.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't believe he was receiving acknowledgment and understanding from the human Uzi.

It was the closest the two would come to waving white flags at each other--at least until Wilson was better.

Going over the information in his head, House puzzled over how Wilson became invisible. "Wilson sweated his balls off trying to make this spell work. Did he finally do something right?"

"Does it look like it?" The belligerence was back, but only briefly. "Well, he did and he didn't. Someone manipulated the spell so it had to be repeated several times by James to trigger it. By the time the set number was reached, he was debilitated by the silver and easily ensnared in the curse. Trapped halfway between visible and not.

"Had to be a rogue vampire. No self-respecting one would do it." She mulled over the information further. "The vampire could be from another clan. There's a truce, but there are always those that are unhappy with peace. A provoked attack on a Borgia member could start a war that some would welcome. Especially if they found out about our experiment," she finished quietly.

Without his vampire to do his bidding, House went to the fridge and brought back a beer. Knowing Zehava wouldn't be interested, he didn't offer her one. "How did Wilson become visible later? He just reappeared. Are there time release spells?"

"Yes, but don't forget, James was not released. You were lulled into thinking so, but he's still under its effect," Zehava replied.

_"Hou--"_

A hollow voice echoed in his ear. "I've got to see Wilson now."

Zehava looked at him questioningly.

"He's calling."

Picking up her coat and handbag, she nodded. "Why don't you go in for a while, but," she lifted a finger in warning, "do not touch the Borgia rose tattoo. You may think he is yours, but his life force belongs to La Famiglia. He could vanish forever by your vampire hunter's touch.

"I need to leave, but will be back soon. Call me immediately if the boychikl begins to fade." Zehava sternly warned.

As soon as she left, House went into the bedroom. Zehava had stripped all of Wilson's clothes from his body. He was only covered to his waist in a thin thermal blanket. With the lights turned off, he could see the body pulse and glow like a mother ship about to blast off for its home planet beyond the galaxy.

"Wilson," he breathed.

A mere zephyr drifted through his head.

He eased onto the bed, daring to touch the skin. Afraid that his hand would fall through to the sheet. This time there was resistance. He stroked the chest, careful to avoid the brand that burned brightly over the heart.

The skin felt gelatinous, giving easily under the light pressure of his fingertips, and leaving blue-white sparks trailing in their wake.

_"Houssse."_

"That's right. I'm here...Master," House answered.

With his head propped up by his forearm, his fingers continually traced the curves and dips of the skin, like a skier swirling around moguls in packed snow. He could swear as he moved his hand a power line buzzed in his head.

He didn't know how much time had passed before his new ally returned from her errand, but she gruffly told him to get off the bed and took his place.

"You should leave now. It's time for his feeding."

_"Houssse"_

"No. Wilson's calling my name," he answered obstinately.

"Suit yourself, but you won't like what you see." She warned.

House took up residence on the other side of the bed and watched.

She began delicately massaging Wilson's skin, running one hand under the cover, keying onto sensitive and erotic locations on his body. Nipples became taut, and there was a growing monument lifting the blanket. With her other hand, Zehava raked her nails across the fragile skin at her carotid, and while the blood did not spurt as in a human, it bubbled.

She turned on her side, wrapping her arms around Wilson's waist and up his back, pulling him toward her, and brought the soft blanket up to his shoulders as his head snuggled under her chin. She made sure the lips made contact with the scarlet, salty liquid. Her childe suckled like a baby.

The sweetest and most melodic of lullabies vibrated from her throat as she stroked his back in wide circles and gently rocked him.

Contrary to Zehava's warning, House was enthralled. He closed his eyes, and tried to capture the song for transcription to the keys of his piano. He'd never experienced such a combination of comfort and erotica before. There was nothing like it in any porn video. His own cock was clawing to escape his jeans, and he wanted to beg Zehava to turn him then and there.

But he had to think of Wilson first.

The feeding went on far longer than a sex fest. He gauged it to be a full half-hour, with both sire and childe benefiting from the symbiotic relationship. After Wilson had drunk his fill, his skin looked less ethereal, and hers glowed with radiant life.

Zehava gently returned Wilson to the mattress as she stretched out on her side next to him.

He was getting himself under control when he felt a touch. Wilson was grasping his hand.

Pivoting slightly, House stroked the arm with his free hand. The skin was firm but there seemed to be a fraction of air between them.

Zehava sat up and tucked her golden hair behind her ears. "This is a good sign, but don't get your hopes up. A few more transfusions and I'll know for sure. I'm trusting that fresh blood will cleanse his system and counteract the spell, but there could be damage to his body. We have to wait and see." Twisting a strand of her hair she added, "I sense his love for you. I thought he had better taste, but the two of you have entered into a connection that could last you forever, or...." Her voice trailed off.

Smiling politely she continued, "Suppose a mazel tov is in order, and I should consider you mekhutonim." She sighed as only a mother-in-law could do when she thought her child was entering into a poor match.

She stood up from the bed. "I've done all I can possibly do tonight. If you want, you can stay with him, and I'll sleep on the couch. I'll check him in the morning. Let me know if there are any changes."

She left him alone in the room.

House prepared to settle in for the evening. He cracked open the windows slightly to get some fresh air, but left the drapes closed. Next, he hunted down a couple of Vicodin, dragged a blanket from the closet, and soon was lying comfortably alongside Wilson, sinking into a deep sleep.

* * *

 

House woke up to a cool breeze stroking his back. The drapes billowed and collapsed according to the air current, allowing the sun's morning rays to mow a path towards Wilson's body. The beam struck the vulnerable flesh like a laser.

Taking fast action when he saw smoke stream up where sunlight touched Wilson's arm, House used his body as a shield, and hollered for Zehava to come quickly.

Running into the room, Zehava sized up the situation immediately, shutting the windows and sealing the gap in the curtains. She scowled and ordered him to get out while she repeated last night's performance, but first she roughly advised him that his time would be better employed digging up information around the hospital.

House didn't miss her worried expression. He left the room, but wouldn't leave the apartment until they talked.

When she came out of the bedroom, she hastily hid the look of concern etched on her features, but not quick enough.

"What aren't you telling me?" House challenged.

Zehava pursed her lips and shook her head. "There's improvement, but not as fast as I expected. He might not make a complete recovery."

"How bad are we talking? Transparent, translucent, or opalescent?" House swallowed hard. He didn't find this amusing, but refused to expose his real feelings.

"It might take months for him to become corporeal. He may never wake to full consciousness." Zehava floundered in her frustration. "If he doesn't begin to improve at a faster rate, he'll certainly suffer from heightened photosensitivity. Sunblock will no longer protect him during daylight hours. He will be like the ancients. A creature of the night.

"I'll know more by this evening." She refused to make eye contact as she pondered her manicure, then shook her hair as if flinging off her concern. "Go. Do what I say. Keep yourself busy, and see what's going on at that snake pit of a hospital you work in."

She handed him a hefty but slender stake, "Just in case," warning him not to take any foolhardy chances, but to call her if he saw anything suspicious.

"Don't mess with any strange looking characters with long, sharp teeth. Leave them for me to handle."

House rolled his eyes, and said, "Yes, Mother."

He was conveniently out the door before he considered explaining his policy about following instructions.

 

.

* * *

Glossary  
_Boychikl _**_ – _**_Yiddish, sweet young boy.  
Mekhutonim – (Mech-TON-im) Yiddish, in-law.  
Mazel tov  – Yiddish, good luck.  
Oy Gotenyu  – Yiddish expression, “Oh dearest God.”   
_**_  
_**_  
_ [](http://www.statcounter.com/joomla/)


	6. Chapter 6

**_  
A/N:_** Glossary at the end of the chapter for Yiddish and Roma words.

.

 

House limped through the hospital corridors, listening to the squeak of rubber soles on polished floors and the hum of nurses and doctors chatting. Amid everyday sounds it was too easy to be lulled into thinking everything was all right.

He couldn't imagine Wilson not at his desk, shooting him irritated or passive-aggressive expressions, depending on the occasion.

For that matter, he couldn't imagine Wilson no more than a specter hiding in the shadows of their home.

With no patient complaining of a stomachache while unaware that blood oozed from their ears, House sent Taub and Thirteen to work his clinic hours so he could brood without interruption.

At least two of his team had hobbies that kept them occupied. Foreman went off to check on a special case of his own, and Kutner punched keys on a laptop in the conference room, supposedly answering House's email, but most likely dispensing medical advice under his name.

While slitting envelopes open with Zehava's deceptively slim, but strong stake, he idly decided to check how much Kutner owed him, however there was no hurry. His top concerns were Wilson and the hospital stalker.

The sharp sound of a woman's voice suddenly parted company from his thoughts.

"House, did you hear anything I said?"

He stabbed a few sheets of paper on a notepad with the wooden blade, treating it like a prop in a Hitchcock film: the innocent looking letter opener waiting for the bad guy to come through the door.

"Sorry, Cuddy. Missed your rabies shot?"

Looming over his desk like a Klingon bird of prey, she asked, "Where are your metrics for last month?"

House sat up in his chair. "Let's see. Four weeks. No one carried out on a gurney. You do the math."

She jotted down the information and placed it on his desk. "Initial it."

Quickly perusing the sheet, he saw the oncology department's numbers for last month singing like a canary in highlighted yellow. He held off scrawling his signature as a means of extortion. "What's up with Wilson's department?"

Looking uncomfortable, Cuddy sat down across from him and answered blandly, "Nothing."

He wouldn't let her get away with such a Wilsonian ploy. "Using black ink costs money. Two colors are twice as expensive. You don't waste pennies like that for nothing."

She unflinchingly looked him in the eye. "An unusually high number of Wilson's patients died recently. The board wants me to talk to him, but your message said that he's too sick to come in today. What's the matter?"

A plausible excuse tripped from House's tongue. "Has a bad case of the flu. Too congested to talk. He should be back in a week."

"Did he discuss with you what's been happening with his patients?" Cuddy inquired.

"What, and break doctor-patient confidentiality? Wilson?" He gave her his wide-eyed innocent look.

"Uh-huh." She said flatly, not falling for his performance for a second.

"However, there are no rules about gossip." House offered.

Cuddy scooted up to the edge of her chair, eager to hear what he had to say.

He went on, "Some of his attendings are considering positions in other parts of the country--"

"What!? They're not happy here?" Cuddy wouldn't believe such a thing. He expected just such a mama bear knee-jerk response.

"As much as they would gladly rip off their arms to stay, some have obligations to relatives, spouses, and a general interest in finding a life-work balance. You know, all the little things that you consider low priority.

"Wilson agreed to take on their bad cases to improve their metrics when they interview."

"Oh." Cuddy appeared to be swallowing his lie.

"Look at the bright side. Less chance of Wilson going anywhere," House explained.

"What a comforting yet twisted thought. Thanks, House." Cuddy deadpanned.

"Whatever I can do to make your life better...is really none of my business," he quipped.

Cuddy stood up to go. "Fine. Tell Wilson to take care of himself. I'll hold off filing the reports until I speak to him."

An idea flashed into House's head. "You know Cuddy, I have one more suggestion."

"You can tell me only if it has nothing to do with my clothes."

"Good, because I suggest that you wear none."

House levered up from his chair to emphasize his point and to better look down her low-cut blouse. "Wilson's been working late hours. He mentioned that he saw an unusual amount of non-staff roaming the corridors after visiting hours. Perhaps you could transfer part of your budget from highlighters to security. Rent-a-cops cost about the same, don't they?"

"Not a bad idea. I'll consider it. Thank Wilson for me."

"You should thank me. He commented, I analyzed."

"Then you won't mind paying for them out of your budget, will you?" Cuddy replied with a smirk.

Just then, her beeper went off. "This may be one of our most productive meetings, House. Offering insight on Wilson's staff and paying for security. I'm going to put your name up for the Ways and Means Committee."

_The Ways and Means Committee._ She looked like she was joking. If not, Wilson was going to owe him big time.

"Whatever you say," House answered agreeably.

"Uh-huh." Cuddy turned on her heels, and House tilted his head, watching her tush wiggle out of his office.

* * *

 

From the date he saw on the paperwork, Cuddy's body count was running behind Wilson's tally, and it didn't reflect the recent deaths of the other staff oncologists' patients. He wondered if there were any new cases.

House decided some reconnaissance was in order and wanted to implement his scheme immediately.

By way of the balcony, he broke into Wilson's office, stole his lab coat and badge, and headed down to the morgue. The other day he waited until the attendant went on a break before snooping around, but he didn't have that luxury today. He now knew the threat was very real and affecting patients daily.

He hoped that given the low mortality rate of his patients and Wilson's organized paperwork, it was unlikely the clerk on duty would make the connection that the name on the badge wasn't his.

Luck was on his side when he didn't recognize the morgue attendant. He figured the man wouldn't know him either. He started in on his chummy Wilson impersonation, eyeing the man's badge, and waving his clipboard. "Hey George, I'm Dr. Wilson. Have any bodies come down from my department? I need to sign off on the paperwork for my attendings. Those lovable enablers are busy with patients and forgot that the world runs on bureaucracy."

The old man with coke bottle glasses looked up from his crossword puzzle and wheezed, "You're not Dr. Wilson."

Must have overdone it with the clipboard.

"Oh? Oh I get it," House decided to gush and babble to get his way. "You have me mixed up with the _other_ Dr. Wilson. Well, actually, I'm his brother. He's adopted, haven't seen each other for years, and...."

The weary attendant waved him through.

House reviewed the logbook. Four bodies were checked in earlier from oncology. He noted the drawer numbers.

A suspected overdose wouldn't be detected without an autopsy, but he could examine the bodies for other telltale signs.

Opening the drawer, he inspected the wrists and necks of the four patients. One body looked worn and emaciated. A natural death from the disease's progression, but there were three sets of tiny twin pinholes on the necks of the others.

He found a mashed-up photograph clutched in two of the drained corpses' hands.

The photos were black-and-white, displaying two different activities during the same fundraiser. Each with an animated suit of clothes, but no hands or face. One showed Wilson's tux schmoozing with a couple, and the other--Wilson's regalia dancing with the wife of a big-time donor.

House ran a finger over the images. Wilson was becoming a living memory. He had to prevent that from happening permanently. Pocketing the photos, he left.

Three more bodies, and each sucked dry. The vampire was becoming bolder. It left Wilson in the clear, but he wondered about Zehava. She left without explanation last night around 10 PM, but was only gone for twenty minutes. It seemed unlikely that she could kill in so short a period, but if she flew...he checked the times of death.

He breathed easier. All before 9 PM. Zehava was off the hook.

There had to be another night stalker lurking.

He was going to need professional help. On his way to his office he pulled out his cell and dialed a number. He listened to Peggy Lee singing a ballad on Stanka's recorded message and broke in, "Stanka, it's House. If you're there, pick up. This is an emergency."

* * *

 

As the sun set, House waited outside the hospital entrance for his first glimpse of Stanka and her sleek, liquid black Lamborghini. No one would guess her age by the car she drove, or by any other means.

Stanka claimed to be a former Atlantic City bathing beauty from the first pageant in 1921. That information placed her solidly over a hundred years old, but she was known for her addiction to lies and drama, so he wouldn't bet a nickel on anything she said. Judging only by her wrinkles and wiry snow-white hair, one hundred-plus was an underestimation, but her clear brown eyes belied that possibility.

More important, even half an idiot knew after talking with her that she was one hell of a shrewd woman--unless she didn't want you to know.

It was unnecessary to escort her in, but it warmed his heart to see the piece of machinery she drove and listen to its velvet purr as it glided by.

Dressed as always in clothes that rivaled Joseph's coat of many colors, he greeted her by saying, "See you're still unsuccessfully going for that Cindy Crawford look, but the mole over the lip is a nice touch. You should have an oncologist check it out. Why don't you aim for something more your style and try copying Triumph the Wonder Dog?"

She returned the remark in kind by reminding him how she tortured Wilson. "Drumming up business for your boyfriend, what's-his-name...Bruce Banner? Are you sure he wants 'Gypsies' for patients?"

House met Stanka when her grandson was under his care and suffering Hulk-like symptoms. Unfortunately, Wilson was caught in the crossfire when she literally sniffed out his darker side and placed a curse on him that mirrored her relative's. Wilson became progressively worse, nearing death until House found the cure.

While all ended peaceably, Wilson preferred to keep a safe distance from her.

Now House wanted to put her vampire detector to work again.

Visiting hours were over, so the cafeteria was serving a limited menu primarily for those who worked the evening or late shifts. After buying her tea and a slice of cake, they were able to locate a lonely table in a secluded corner where no one could overhear them talk.

House laid out what was going on. "There's a renegade vampire practicing euthanasia on oncology patients."

Adding sugar, she stirred her tea. "You're talking about Wilson?"

"I said renegade, not new, improved vampire who comes with infrequent flyer points. You remember? You're the one who told him he had a soul."

The old woman shrugged. "Having a soul doesn't exempt anyone from killing. Read the front page of any newspaper."

"No, it's not him. I have evidence to prove he isn't, but whoever it is wants to discredit him and reveal that he's a vampire. So far, there's been an attempt on Wilson's life, and this bloodsucker is shortening the lives of terminal patients," House expounded. "The hospital isn't safe."

"You want me to cast a protection spell?"

"Can you do that?"

Stanka winked. "For you, Darling, it won't cost bupkes, but between you and me that's how much it's worth. It won't keep any bad people or vampires away."

"Too bad, because I keep running into shooters," House opined.

"You live an interesting life." She snatched his hand and turned it over. Her finger traced several lines in his palm.

After careful inspection she let go of it as if she was caught smoking a cigarette in a high school bathroom.

"What?" House asked.

She peered into his eyes as if looking for some answer. "You're going to have a very long life."

"With or without a soul?"

Her mouth tightened into a thin line and her eyes looked troubled. Finally she spoke.

"Both," was her terse reply.

Not too long ago, before he knew Wilson was a vampire and Travelers were capable of deadly curses, he would have been skeptical, but not now. House looked at his hand. It revealed nothing to him, but Stanka's information was a revelation. He too would one day be a vampire. With or without a soul, he didn't care, as long as....

What about Wilson's future?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I need to read his palm. By the way, you said someone tried to kill him? Is he all right?"

"He's home right now. He didn't want to smell up your radar with all that's been happening here. You might say, he's feeling so vulnerable, his distress is, er...'transparent.'"

Nibbling on pieces of cake, the old woman confirmed, "You called me today to sniff out vampires? That's what you want?"

House was curious. "How finely tuned is this skill? Are you a bloodhound hot on someone's trail, or a smoke detector that needs a skillet of fried chicken spewing smoke before blasting off?

"Darling, I can pick up a vampire's trail that's been cold for over twenty-four hours, and even tell you the clan. Is that good enough for you?"

House was excited. His blood was stirring at the thought of the hunt. He pulled the stake out of the back of his jean's waistband, showing it to her before returning it under his shirt. I've got this if we need protection."

She pointed to the ebony cane. "And that. Are you expecting to find a nest of vampires?"

"What are you talking about? This cane? I found it in a junk shop." House picked up the walking stick and frowned.

"You don't know you have a vampire hunter's cane? Here, hand it over, and I'll show you." Stanka hastily wiped the crumbs from her hands onto her lap before touching it. She gave the crook a twist and the cane separated into two parts displaying the silver dagger attached to the handle flashing brightly in the cafeteria light.

"Right. There's a metal knife, but even a silver one won't kill a vampire," House explained. "The stake must be woo--"

She unscrewed the metal blade carefully from the handle, and slid it off. Hidden underneath was a long, thin, wooden spike.

"Well, sonofabitch. That's cool!" House marveled.

Handing it back to him, the Roma woman said, "The weapon is clearly marked with an 'H.' What did you think it stood for--homosexual?"

House's eyes were gleaming as he fondled the black length of wood. "When I bought it the initial was too tarnished to see. I was...drawn to it. And please, I'm only gay for Wilson," House emphasized.

"What about you? Are you armed?" Vivid blue eyes looked at her expectantly.

The old woman cackled, "With at least fourteen curses that run the gamut from turning vampires into dust or into bad American Idol contestants."

"Don't tell me Sanjaya is...?"

"Don't ask, don't tell is my motto." Stanka's eyes were glittering.

House turned an appraising gaze on her. He wouldn't put anything past her. He swallowed the last of his coffee, put down the mug, and asked, "Are you ready?"

Wiping the last of the crumbs from her face with the napkin she replied, "Let's get started."

They went floor-by-floor, starting in the basement and making their way up to the top level, completing a circuit around the corridor.

A small spat broke out about using the stairs. In spite of Stanka's age, she wanted to walk each flight, but with House's leg acting up, he refused. As her baleful eyes trained on him, he was concerned that she was sizing him up for a dog collar. To make his point he brought out a vial and dry swallowed two pills.

She immediately understood. "You're leg is bothering you because something is going on between you and Wilson that you're not telling me. All right, we take the elevator, but I insist on checking all the stairway and emergency stairwell landings." At the north stairwell, the one that connected to the garage, she inhaled a short series of whiffs, declaring not one but two vampires used it recently.

House ran his hand under his shirt to the back of his jeans, assuring that the lethal wooden weapon was easy to get to if there should be an encounter.

As they came to the blood lab, she stopped and said that another vampire had been there within the last few days.

"That must be Zehava," House explained.

A sidelong look from Stanka caused him to mutter, "My mother-in-law is visiting from out-of-town."

The woman nodded sagely. "She smells like Wilson. Quite the family you got yourself involved with."

They continued their tour upward. At oncology, the old woman almost went into a frenzy. "What's been going on here? Has there been a vampire convention? This place reeks!"

House scanned the halls. The nurse's station was empty. They must have been called away. Everything was quiet and peaceful. Possibly too peaceful. He turned to her. "How many were here?"

Stanka sniffed the air, lapping and chewing it like a wine snob at a tasting. "It's hard to say. They're all related. Of course, there's Wilson's stench. It's on everything." She ran her hands over countertops and walls then raised them to her nose, taking a deep breath. "And Zehava's."

She even bent down on her hands and knees, inhaling wafting air currents. At one point, she pressed her ear to the floor as if she were a scout listening for hoof beats or the iron horse.

Her face was red with embarrassment. "Definitely all members from Wilson's clan. It's hard to separate them out."

She read the annoyance on House's grizzled face. "Don't look at me that way, Dilo. It's highly improbable for a family of vampires to be in such close proximity."

House rolled his eyes. "So I've been told...many times."

They both turned around as they heard a thump from a supply closet. "Could be staff having a quick grope, or could be one of Wilson's relatives. Should we find out who's behind door number one?" House whispered.

Nodding, Stanka answered, "I'm up for either. Get your toothpick ready."

Itching to try out the stiletto in his cane, he quickly detached the handle from the shank, unsheathed the spike, and slipped it behind his back, next to Zehava's weapon.

They moved with ninja stealth the last few feet to the door. House slowly and carefully placed his cane on the floor outside the closet, not making a sound.

Getting hold of the doorknob with one hand, and with the other on the hunter's spike, he looked over his shoulder to check on the old crone. Her hands were shields in front of her. Her fingers crooked as if she would shoot a poison dart from each finger.

With one fast sweep, he threw the door wide.

At the very back of the closet, not one, but two vampires viciously hissed at him, a man and a woman.

Their eyes glowed lantern red, their mouths wide open. Drool dripped down sharpened fangs.

The male rushed at him.

Without time to think, House's reflexes went into overdrive. Raising his arm swiftly above his head, he aimed the stake at the oncoming rabid demon....

.

* * *

**Glossary**  
Bupkes – Yiddish, nothing.  
Dilo – Roma, imbecile.  
Gadje – Roma language for a Non roma.  
Roma – Roma, Travelers, a culture called in the past, “Gypsies” (politically incorrect).  
Romni – Roma, woman.   
  
[](http://www.statcounter.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

  
_**_A/N: _**Glossary at the end of the chapter  
_

.

 

"No! No! Please! We mean no harm."

While the vampire held onto House's arms, preventing the stake from racing down into his heart, he...begged for mercy. The fangs receded with every word he spoke.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" House asked, exasperated. He could have sworn he heard Stanka behind him, spouting a disappointed "Fuck" under her breath.

The luminous red disappeared from the vamp's eyes, and House felt the grip vanish. He lowered his arms and wedged the stake back into his jeans. He motioned for the man and woman to come out into the corridor so he could examine them further.

Both were in their early forties, around Wilson's age. It was hard to believe House had seen supernatural behavior only seconds ago. They were sort of mousy and nondescript, showing no aggressive behavior as they walked out of the storage area.

If anything, they showed an avid interest in putting the whole situation behind them. The man stared into House's eyes, and the woman did the same with Stanka as they intoned, "You never saw us."

The doctor and gypsy snapped simultaneously, "Like...hell no!"

The couple squirmed.

House took his time. Collected his cane, elaborately reassembling all the elements, and hooked it onto his forearm. For added effect, he drew out Zehava's stake, slapping it into the palm of his hand.

Either his attitude or the spike must have been intimidating because the vampires huddled close to each other.

House stepped forward. "Why the fuck are you here?"

The man shielded the woman behind him as Stanka united with House by moving forward, standing along his left side. She was rubbing her palms together and cracking her knuckles, warming up to pitch a curse.

The man looked visibly shaken, but House waited and didn't budge until the vamp regained his composure and spoke. Talking in a monotone, he pointed to the vamp duster. "I'd be much obliged if you'd put that away. We're not here to cause problems. We came to help. I got a call from Jimmy. He said he needed to see me."

The flat tone almost caused House to yawn, but he hid it under a sharp, commanding voice. "Wilson called you? When?"

"Yesterday morning. He was my roommate in med school. Said he was in trouble and instructed me to come immediately." The man covered the woman's hands with his own. "He didn't say anything about danger or I wouldn't have brought Sarah."

House knew it couldn't have been Wilson who called. He was barely a jellyfish yesterday morning. But something about the boring voice and the name, Sarah, made House begin to connect the dots. "Wait." House began to snap his fingers. "You're Dick somebody....

"Uh, no not Dick. Your name is Joel. You're Wilson's first and, as far as I know, the sneaky bastard's only childe. Technically, Sarah here is Wilson's grandchilde."

The vampire nodded his head. "When your sire calls, you have to obey. He told us to meet him in his office, but we got lost, and thought we'd check oncology.

"We became anxious when no one was here, and Sarah picked up, um...negative vibes from the two of you." He looked protectively over at the bland woman. "She thought it best if we hide until you left."

The man's dull gray eyes resembled a zombie's. They barely blinked. House watched as the man forced himself to ask a question. "And who--who are you?"

"I'm Dr. House. A friend of Dr. Wilson." He heard a snort from the little old woman by his side.

The couple stood hand-in-hand, listening.

House couldn't believe two vampires could be so Velveeta. He turned to Stanka, and it was as if she was reading his thoughts.

"These mahrime use non-dairy creamer to season their food." The Romni sighed.

If Wilson didn't call them, then someone else did. They were being used as bait, decoys, or fall guys. It was lucky that he and Stanka came across them before anyone else. In the middle of the oncology department, they ran the same risk of being exposed as vampires that Wilson did.

In addition, they brought no cred to the Dark Community whatsoever. Five minutes on the six o'clock news and viewers would be trashing their _Blade_ DVDs.

They looked surprised when he hustled them toward the elevator, punching the down button with the tip of his cane, corralling them into the car when it arrived. Stanka was the last to get in, her beady eyes darting back and forth looking for other vampires as she assumed shotgun.

House hurriedly explained, "I don't know who called you, but it wasn't Wilson. You've got to get out of here and out of town. He'll call you when everything's safe."

This time Sarah spoke. "How will we know that it's really him? The man on the phone sounded exactly like our sire."

"Wilson will use a password. He'll say he's calling to speak to Mr. Neufchatel." House watched for a reaction.

Neither picked up on his joke. They simply repeated the name, committing it to memory.

As the doors opened to the lobby, he escorted them out, but halted as he remembered something about them.

He directed his question to Joel. "Wilson told me your marriage didn't last. When you embraced Sarah, the two of you couldn't stand each other."

For the first time the features on the couple's face lit up, displaying excitement. Sarah began rattling out their story: "We still were in love, but couldn't stand being close to each other. Batman found out that gold dust from the Godfather's ring could work miracles, so we petitioned him, and pledged to work on his personal staff. It took us ten years, but we finally got what we needed. And now we're never apart. Right, Batman?"

"Right, Chickie Bird." Batman couldn't peel the sappy grin off his face.

House was stunned at this gem of information. Wilson had a small stash of gold given to him at the ball but didn't know what to do with it.

"All _riiiight,_ so before my gag reflex kicks in, tell me quickly without any pet names how many grains did each of you need?"

Chickie Bird hadn't relinquished the floor. "Two each."

But dull as roadkill, Batman did the math. "A total of four."

"You're sharp with the numbers, Joel. What are you, an accountant? Oh, snap! I remember, Wilson told me you're a whiz at string theory."

Before Batman could object, House walked up to the entrance and tilted his head toward the door. "If you have any more to tell me, write a letter and burn it. Now get out of here."

When he returned to Stanka, she was standing with her arms folded. "What was all that talk about gold dust?"

"Nothing to do with our vampire hunt, but if I can ever persuade Wilson to turn me, the information might come in handy." A small voice inside his head stole away the pleasurable thought. Reminding him that the information was only important if Wilson woke up

All he received for his explanation was a sour smile.

House looked around the lobby. "What's that strange smell, or is the cafeteria preparing for fish stick Friday?"

Stanka answered. "Your nose is becoming sensitized. That's the stink of vampire. At least four have come through here, but I won't bet that was all. The one sure thing is that they all belong to the same family because they all smell similar." She inhaled a long breath. "But I'm not picking up anything fresh except those two. Want to do another run through?"

House was torn between going down to the morgue and going home and seeing how Wilson was doing.

A slender thread tugged at his heart. He decided he could wait until tomorrow to find out if any more bodies were brought downstairs. "No. Let's go."

Stanka had an uncanny talent for divining his deepest desires. "Do you need a ride home?"

Blue eyes lit up with anticipation. House had brought his bike, but what the hell. The Lamba...

"Did I ever tell you, Stanka, it's not always about what you want, but about what you need? Right now, I could use both. You're on."

.

* * *

**Glossary**   
_Mahrime - Roma (MAH-ree-may) Unclean in a spiritual way._ _   
_   
[ ](http://www.statcounter.com/wordpress.org/)


	8. Chapter 8

  
_**A/N:** Glossary at the end of the chapter._

 

.

Neither House nor Zehava had good news to report about their day. Each encouraged the other to start.

"You first," said, House.

"You go ahead."

"My turf, my vampire. You start."

"My childe. I'm your guest. What did you find out?"

"Three more premature deaths. They should have lived relatively pain free for a couple more months," House explained, keeping his voice level.

When she sat down on the sofa, tucking her slender legs beneath her, he tossed the crushed photos into her lap. She looked at the pictures but said nothing as she dropped her head into her hand, her hair obscuring her face.

"Tonight I brought in a Roma woman who can track down vampires. She picked up Wilson's scent and yours, and we caught two more of your clan in a supply closet."

Zehava picked up her head. "Then you caught the murderers. Where are they?"

House shook his head. "No. They're not the ones. They're as aggressive as two plates of spaghetti, and the most boring vamps on the face of the earth. One was the product of Wilson's wild and ignorant bloodlust when he was first turned in med school, and the other his wife. We let them go after we heard their story.

"The real killer was using them. Possibly to unveil the existence of your kind, though there could hardly be a worse choice. There isn't a child who'd want to dress up like them for Halloween. Might as well dress up as funeral directors."

Propping her feet on the coffee table, Zehava smiled slightly. "You mean Simpering Sarah and Joyless Joel? They give vampires a bad name. The only way they could kill anyone is by talking while the victim was using heavy machinery. Those two should come with a warning label."

Pulling back her hair she tied it up and probed, "Anything else?"

"Stanka thought there was an additional vamp, also from your family."

Scratching at the rough growth on his face, House continued, "I kept the details from her about Wilson, but on the way home, we got to talking, and I told her about his condition. She's not a fan of his, but she knows him and was outraged." House could hear the swearing in his ears all over again. "Said if we found the perpetrator, she wanted in."

Zehava stood up and restlessly roamed the room, mumbling, "Gypsies. You can never trust them."

House stopped her in the middle of her pacing. "So far, this stalker has proven to be cunning. We can't go to the authorities. Why not get her help? She understands vampires. I say we call her if we need to."

Zehava's blue eyes met his straight on. "Fine, but she follows our orders."

As House stared into her eyes, he saw the bad news she was concealing. "Wilson's not better."

She held both his hands in her own. "I'm sorry, House. He's getting worse."

"I want to see him."

She nodded but warned, "Don't turn on any lights. They will bother him." She dropped his hands and walked to the window.

House went into the darkened room where Wilson lay like the dead. The rally from last night was a distant dream. When House touched an arm, it felt like a worn out, leaky balloon. The luster and transparency were replaced by a dry, powdery coating over the surface of his body. The eyes stared sightless at the ceiling.

He heard a slight buzzing pulsing erratically through the air. Like a circuit about to lose power.

"Wilson, stay with me." He stroked dusty skin, spongy under the pressure of his fingertips. He wanted to yell and curse, but knew it would do no good. He decided to treat Wilson like a coma patient. Not the way he normally would, but as Wilson would have suggested--by talking. "Always knew you'd make a helluva cup holder."

Clearing his throat, he searched for a subject. "Cuddy came in with your metrics. I told her you're unable to speak to her because you have the flu. Made up a story about your attendings...."

His leg ached, but he ignored it. He could delay a little while before taking a pill.

He droned on about the morgue, Stanka, Joel and Sarah....

Time passed and his voice hitched as his thigh demanded to be medicated. He tried to massage the muscle rather than leave Wilson's side. The vigil trumped the importance of the pain.

There was a movement from the corner of his eye. A golden flickering light fluttered off the walls like the reflection of a candle flame. He sought the source. It was Wilson's eyes. He'd never seen gold before. There was red, like Joel and Sarah when a vampire prepares to attack, or is provoked, and as a caressed minion, he had the good fortune to see silver.

Why would there be gold sparks?

He couldn't bear to leave his partner's side, so he shouted for Zehava.

"What's happened?" she breathlessly asked as she ran into the room.

"Wilson's eyes are flashing gold."

There was enough light coming from the hallway to show the woman's eyes filling with tears.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Come with me," she said, her voice low and mournful.

He could hardly stand straight with the aid of his cane as he followed her out of the room. She stopped at the kitchen, turning around to look at him. "It's time."

She said it like a physician suggesting to pull the plug on life support.

"No." House shook his head. This had to be a bad dream.

"You still have the stake from this morning?" Zehava asked.

He sidled away, seeking comfort at his piano, trying to capture the lullaby Zehava had been crooning to Wilson. Willing the melody to block her words from his head.

The woman's voice loomed over him. "House, you know James wanted it this way. This is humane, and what a minion does for his master. He relies upon you to do this for him. None of the undead wants to transform into hellish Nosferatu. You know that."

House involuntarily pulled at his hair, then returned to the lone tune. The stress was making him collapse within himself, like a black hole in space, but it was unlike him to give up. How many of his last-minute epiphanies brought his patients back from the brink? Now he was family looking for a Rainmaker, a Merlin, a Dumbledore. Zehava was part of the vampire world. She must know something. He croaked, "Isn't there anything that can be done?"

"If I could perform a miracle, I would; if I had gold from the Godfather's ring, I'd offer it to you, but only a chosen few receive such a gift. He can't save every vampire in his family," Zehava explained.

She finished in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry, House."

The tapered fingers stopped playing. "What do you mean…the Godfather's ring?"

"House, this is not the time to discuss the traditions of the Borgia." Her voice broke. "Do you want me to dust Wilson? This is not usually done between members, but if I have to...."

Pushing himself away from the piano, House loped to his desk, opening a bottom drawer, swirling the contents with his hand, and digging up a tiny glass pill bottle encrusted with gold rococo swirls. He shook it in Zehava's face. "This? These grains of gold can help Wilson?"

Snatching it out of his hand, Zehava turned it on its side and held it to the light. Squinting, she counted the grains.

"...Five, six, seven! You have enough! Do you have a flashlight, a small dish, and the spike?"

Digging into another drawer he found a small penlight and tested the switch. A bright circle highlighted his computer keyboard. On the desk was an old ashtray filled with loose change. He dumped the coins onto the desk. He then produced the spike.

"Will these do?"

She left him with the stake and grabbed the other two, abruptly marching back to the bedroom, calling for him to follow.

Entering the room, House hardly dared to breathe until he saw another flicker come from Wilson pupils. They weren't too late.

Zehava patted the bed. "Here. Sit down. You should be the one to do this."

He sat and watched as she licked her index finger and then carefully twisted off the cap of the decorative vial. She gently tapped the tube until four miniscule dots fell upon her dampened skin, affixing them to her finger. Holding the ashtray below her hand, she rubbed the golden grit with her thumb onto the glass. "Now, cut your finger with the point and cover the gold with your blood. One or two drops will do," she directed.

House did as he was told.

As the crimson liquid fell upon the golden specks, Zehava whispered, "Watch closely, House. You're witnessing a once in a lifetime miracle."

House watched.

Nothing happened.

But that didn't dissuade him from continuing to stare.

A form of alchemy was occurring....

The small flecks lifted and floated to the top of the scarlet liquid, then broke apart like the trailing tail on a comet, enveloping and turning the blood into gold liquid, and transforming once again into a yellow metallic vapor. It rose from the dish, a small swirling cloud. A puff of magic from a genie's wand, it sought Wilson's mouth. The silky thread slid through a tiny opening between parted lips and disappeared.

The first change in Wilson was his eyes. The gold sparks disappeared and began sizzling silver. The eyelids blinked.

House leaned in and studied every change and movement as if witnessing the birth of a newborn.

Over the next few minutes, the worn mantle of Wilson's body turned into seething silver liquid shooting fumes into the air, but immediately cooling into a gelatinous white mass, and then recognizably moist, pink, opaque skin.

An off-key moan rose from the depths of his throat.

Wilson worked his jaw, and his tongue moistened his lips.

The brown eyes glowed with the inner light of recognition, and House realized he was holding his breath as Wilson mumbled a word from his mouth instead of through their telepathic connection.

"House."

Careful not to blink, House didn't want a tear to run down his cheek, but he sought Wilson's hand.

And their fingers entwined and locked.

With a pleased smile and relief filling her eyes, Zehava unashamedly shed tears for both herself and House.

She walked out of the room to give the men privacy and time to revel in each other's company.

 

* * *

**Glossary**  
Roma – Roma, Travelers, a culture called in the past, “Gypsies” (politically incorrect).   
[](http://www.statcounter.com/myspace/)


	9. Chapter 9

 

The men looked a little tousled and wobbly when they finally left the bedroom the following morning. Tipsy on passion, House was no longer limping, but Wilson listed slightly. Neither was concerned. Past experience indicated that Wilson would shake off the pain transferred from House in a few hours.

Zehava gave them a hug before launching into her harangue.

"You schmucks, shmegeges, putzes! Why didn't you ever tell me the Godfather gave you gold dust?!"

Wilson smiled sheepishly like a shmegege while House fought back a putz-like grin as they listened to her dressing down. They shot each other contented, sidelong glances as they patiently waited until she ran out of steam.

Wilson put it simply. "Don't blame me. Your need-to-know policy was in place. Neither of us had a clue what to do with the gold any more than we knew what to do with the book."

Of course, Wilson did not tell the complete truth. After the ball and House’s close call with the Hell Pit, they had accidentally blown several grains on a wish to return to their apartment faster than the limousine could drive. They could not wait to rip off each other’s clothes and celebrate their relief with life-affirming sex.

In the wake of their slaked appetites, they discussed what to do with the vial. Wilson pointed out, "If you call me an idiot while that bottle is open, I may seriously lose a lot of IQ points."

"I promise to replace your _JAMA_ subscription with _Highlights,_" House retorted. They promptly stuffed the petite container into the first available drawer and forgot about it.

When Zehava moved on to ranting about how worried sick she and House were about him, Wilson became intensely interested, smiling smugly as he absorbed everything she said. At that point, the diagnostician decided it was time to change the subject. He grabbed the sheaf of papers that Lucas gave him from the desk and made an announcement.

"Time to do a differential, People."

Wilson questioned, "A differential on what? Murder?"

"No garlic on you."

House went into the kitchen where he rummaged around in a junk drawer full of stray odds and ends until he found a usable marker.

Contemplating the cabinets, he decided this was as good a place as any to hold his session, and began writing the scant information he had for each patient on the pale wood.

"People means us," Wilson explained wearily, motioning to Zehava to follow him into the kitchen.

"Why these patients?" House pointed to what he printed on the doors.

"House, n-not the cabinets!" Wilson stuttered out in frustration. "Those are brand new. I just finished remodeling."

"Which you won't get to use if you’re rotting in jail. Concentrate on what I wrote and not what I wrote on."

Wilson huffed and knitted his brows in thought. "The patients are different ages and sexes, all with various forms of cancer, and most of the cases are mine, but some are from other doctors in my department." Wilson shrugged. "Someone is trying to discredit me? Blame me for murder? Reveal that vampires exist?"

Writing down the possibilities, House added, "Don't forget trying to out-and-out kill you, or drive you crazy until you can’t resist a short ride on a long wooden spear."

House's eyes focused mid-distance between reality and conjecture. He returned from his cerebral holiday and pointed to the cabinet he was scribbling on.

"The killer changed his M.O. from you to your attendings. _'Why these patients?'_ is the wrong question. We should ask, _'Why these doctors?'_ Whose cases are they?"

They went from case to case, House writing down the name of each doctor Wilson provided.

When they were done, House reviewed the list. "Interesting…only three other doctors. A fraction of your staff. Tell me about them. What do they have in common?"

"Kaufman, Johnson and Elliott—they’re young, but dedicated. Talented." Wilson offered and waved an arm. "All are exceptional men."

"All men, and you said young?" House pursued. "What else? Good looking? Married? Have kids? Religious? What more do you know about them?"

“Why? Are you in the market for a new partner?” Wilson sniped.

With his marker ready and arm hovering next to a cabinet, House paused and glared at Wilson, but secretly felt pleased about the display of jealousy. “Shall we stick to the differential…Master?” House replied sarcastically.

The kitchen was quiet before Wilson answered, mollified. "They're all married or committed.

“Kaufman has kids. Johnson was talking about adopting. He was saying that he and his partner, Fred, are looking forward to raising children."

"So Johnson is happily hitched. What about Elliott and Kaufman? Are they in perfect Brangelina joined-at-the-hip relationships?" House probed.

Nodding his head, Wilson continued, "Yeah, all three, come to think of it. Elliott was excited about going on vacation with his wife to San Francisco where they first met in med school. Kaufman was actually thinking of cutting down on his practice to spend more time with his kids and wife."

Zehava had kept silent while she followed along, but interrupted. "I don't get it. What difference would that make to a vampire?"

Pointing at Zehava, House said, "Maybe not to you, but didn't you hear Dr. McCaring? He listens to these people talk. He knows about their spouses, how they met, my God, he even knows their names. The information may be important to our mystery ghoul too."

House had another inspiration. "Didn't you say Wilson was an experiment about a new kind of vamp? Did you make any more of these models? One that didn't work out as planned? Have a few screws loose?"

House's eyes glittered deep sapphire at this new line of reasoning.

Wilson stood up. "I know that look. You're onto something, aren't you?" He whirled around to Zehava. "Well?"

"Bill," she said and looked apologetic. "On the surface he appeared to have many of your characteristics, but deep down, he didn't have the same character as you."

Zehava's news hit a nerve with Wilson. His voice rose with excitement. "Bill? My Bill? The EMT I caressed and almost embraced when I first turned because I didn't know what the hell I was doing? That Bill?"

Sighing, Zehava answered tiredly, "Yes. That one. You refused to make him your minion, and you didn't want to turn to him. I couldn't tell you what to do or what was going on because the Godfather wanted to watch you make your own independent decisions. Wanted to observe how well your instinct would guide you.

"The Godfather suggested Bill could be a variation on your experiment. His soul wasn't preserved like yours, but I was to look after him with minimum guidance." Zehava shook her head and scowled. "The first problem was that Bill was half-crazed with unrequited love for you. He couldn't get over your caress even after I embraced him." She calmly assessed the guilty look on Wilson's face. "You didn't do anything wrong. Other minions have switched allegiance safely. He's fundamentally flawed.

"I had to cancel his experiment and give him my full attention and training." She shrugged. "He behaved like he was conforming, but it must have been an act to prevent me from watching his every move."

Wilson swallowed down his emotions and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't believe this." He turned to House. "What was Bill doing with the other doctors? Planning a male harem?"

"Could be." House agreed, then returned a question to Wilson. "How could he have met them? Do they get together during lunch or outside the hospital?"

"They're friends, or at least medical combat buddies. They like to hang out after work together. They once asked me to come along."

House was throwing the marker up in the air and catching it. "And goodwill ambassador that you are, you joined them instead of coming straight home and cooking my dinner. Where'd you go?"

Wilson looked like he just ate a mouthful of fertilizer. "It was my birthday, and they wanted to celebrate by taking me out for a drink. I didn't realize until it was too late; they were taking me to Sharrie's."

The marker clattered to the floor.

House was a bloodhound onto a scent. "What does this Bill look like? Did I meet him at that sucking reunion ball we went to last year?"

The two vampires looked at each other, communicating through telepathy. The matriarch spoke. "Neither of us saw Bill, but he was invited, and you don't turn down an invitation from the Godfather. He may have spent much of his time...Oh my God!" Zehava gasped.

"What!?" The two men asked in one voice.

"Bill could have been invisible most of the time he was there. He loved ferreting out old spells and curses, and there are no rules against being invisible at the ball. Just look like the day you were turned, and be corporeal when you arrive. You must also be visible if you have an audience with the Borgia Prince."

"I think we've solved two mysteries tonight," House said. "I bet Bill is our stalker, and the same one that threw me into the Pit the night of the ball."

Zehava and Wilson shuddered.

"Describe what Bill looks like." House demanded.

"He's...not bad looking," Wilson began. "Brown hair. About my height."

Zehava pushed back her hair with an expression of annoyance. "Bill's damn good looking. From a distance he looks almost like James." She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as she looked at Wilson. "His lips are more generous, no dimple, the biggest difference is the eye color. Bill's are hazel. Quite extraordinary. Gold and blue with flecks of green."

"He's the guy that tried to pick me up at Sharrie's," House confirmed.

"What!?" Wilson yelped, displaying his annoyance. "Wh-what were you doing there, and why were you being picked up?!"

"Calm down, poodle," House soothed while hiding a smile. "You're the only person who is allowed to bark at me and bite my neck."

A distinct smirk was written across Zehava's face.

"I went there to meet Lucas. Hire him to find out where you were going late at night. Thought there was less likelihood for you to run into me and discover what I was doing. Lucas left, and Bill slithered right in, oozing charm."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. He was angry that Bill dared to put the moves on House, and displeased to hear about Lucas. "Does your P.I. know I'm a vampire? He must think I'm a killer, too."

"Don't worry." House assured. "Lucas doesn't know about your taste for blood, and he promised to let me look into what's been going on at the hospital. The first chance I get, I'll 'splain to him who our murderer really is."

Wilson was still perplexed. "Why did Bill kill my patients?"

Three sets of eyes traded looks back and forth.

"Nothing like the fury of an EMT scorned," offered House.

Zehava brushed a few gold strands from her face, nodding in agreement, directing her answer at Wilson. "When I turned him, I expected him to find other pursuits, and he led me to believe that he had. But one night while walking home after teaching a class, I saw Bill standing across the street staring intently at your apartment window. I began tracking his activities and discovered he frequently lurked in the shadows near your building. One vampire stalking another is a very unhealthy pastime.

"That's when I decided to move to the Northwest. Put as much distance between the two of you as possible. Bill was still a novice and had no choice but to come along. I did it to protect both of you."

Sighing, she finished, "Bill did well out there--relished being a vampire. He was quite gifted at getting donors to contribute blood—male and female. I thought his preoccupation with you was completely forgotten, but I was horribly wrong."

Witnessing how Wilson's stiffened as Zehava discussed Bill's assimilation into the undead, House discreetly gripped his partner's arm, sending his own telepathic message, _"You're nothing like him. With or without a soul."_

Wilson relaxed and turned to look at him, a soft expression playing around his brown eyes.

House summarized succinctly, "So, Bill wanted to take away all of Wilson's toys. His patients, doctors, minion, and career. Not only was he jealous of Wilson, but thinking the three doctors were Wilson's buddies and possible future minions, he wanted to seduce them away from the object of his obsession. When that failed, he sought revenge on Wilson’s three colleagues as well as Wilson by killing their patients." House glared at Zehava. "Bill is insanely jealous and completely out-of-his-bloodsucking-skull.

"Good experiment, Zehava. You should hear from the Nobel prize committee any day," House jabbed.

Withdrawing a stake from his back pocket and raising it, House announced, "We're dealing with a serial stalker and murderer on a rampage. How many agree we stop the sucker before he does any more damage? Raise your hand."

Wilson didn't look at him as Zehava said angrily, "We agree he deserves punishment, but it is not up to us. Vampires don't go around killing members of their own clan. He must be brought before the Godfather. Only he can decide the appropriate disciplinary action. Trust me, he could choose a punishment far worse than death."

House supposed he couldn't expect full cooperation from Bill's family. Apparently vampire blood was thicker than human, but time was running short. Every day, patients were dying, and he wanted a permanent end to it.

Unwilling to wait any longer, House stated, "In that case it's up to the non-family member to make the decision...

"...I vote that the vampire hunter dusts him."

[ ](http://www.statcounter.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** Glossary at the end of the chapter._

.

 

House sat impatiently at the table, running a thumb over a crease in the floral tablecloth as he listened to a lone musician coaxing "Golden Earrings" from his violin. The dining room was candlelit with wood smoldering in a brick hearth, allowing the tang of oak to mingle with the scent of roasting beef. A knotty pine paneled bar off to the side of the room was hung with cheesy multicolored Christmas lights. His eyes roamed over the low, carved beam ceiling inlaid with gaudy, rustic designs and tried not to grimace.

Too fussy for his taste. Even for Wilson's.

But for a public meeting the location was perfect. The restaurant and bar were attached to an inn a half-mile back from the highway. Hidden from view and the sound of traffic. It was situated between Princeton and Atlantic City. He was told on good authority that the place was a favorite for lover's clandestine trysts, but by the paltry smattering of patrons at the tables and the bar, lovebirds were reserving Monday night for must-see TV and not for hot sweaty sex.

His watch indicated Bill was running late.

He hoped that the vamp's telepathic ability didn't see through his little scheme and that Bill decided not to show.

Wilson's ranting and contempt for his plan hadn't exactly been a confidence builder.

"I don't care if everyone in your line back to Adam was a slayer or hunter, you have no right endangering yourself this way," Wilson said as his hands settled on his hips, preparing for a long lecture.

"And you're a doctor, for God's sake. I thought, with the exception of your own, you held everyone's life sacred. You may act tough, but you can't even face your patients and tell them that they're going to die. You have someone on your team do it." Wilson huffed.

The words rankled, but House had no choice. Someone had to get rid of Bill. "Are you finished? Now do something useful, and give me your professional opinion. Which spike from Zehava's arsenal would you prefer skewering your own chest?"

When Wilson realized there was no way he could dissuade House, he recited a long list of warnings: "Remember to call him Alex. Be careful about everything you think about, don't sit close or let him touch you, and don't look into his eyes for more than a couple of seconds. You'll make it too easy for him to read your mind. Don't be snarky, and above all, act natural."

Act natural. Sure. House immediately implemented the instructions. He was careful about what he thought, didn't come too close or touch Wilson, and didn't look into his eyes for more than two seconds. It was the only way he could possibly keep him from knowing that he planned to rely on his instinct.

Hearing a chattering noise, House returned to the present. His field of vision focused on the draped archway into the dining room. Bill stood there scoping out the space as the dangling strands of beads swung behind him.

Again, he was struck by his resemblance to Wilson, but with every step Bill took toward his table, the warmth dropped like a series of veils. The façade was genial but the golden eyes were cold and calculating, the skin barely hid the ferocity underneath. This man was meant to be a predator.

House closed his eyes and concentrated on the violin's mournful melody.

Bill, or rather, Alex's football stadium smile lit up even the darkest corners of the dining room as he chose a chair alongside House. "Greg, it's good to see you again. I was pleasantly surprised when you called and said you wanted to meet."

He scanned the room with as much approval House showed earlier. "Quaint, not where I'd normally go to dine, but tonight it has everything I want." Alex placed his hands on the table in anticipation of making contact, but House ignored them, unfurling his napkin and looking at the menu.

The awkward silence was filled when a young man in black slacks and a spotless white shirt arrived, asking if he could get them anything from the bar and if they were ready to order.

While Alex insisted on selecting the wine, House ordered a medium rare New York cut. "I hear the prime rib and steaks are the house specialties."

A red glow blinked from the handsome man's eyes as he handed back the menus. "I'll have the prime rib, but tell the chef to make mine a center cut, rare. And bring your best cabernet."

The waiter bowed and vanished.

"I saw the wine list. For their best cabernet, you could drop a deposit on an Escalade." House commented.

Cool fingers snaked around his as Alex leaned forward. "Nothing's too expensive for you. You're worth any price."

House tried to remove his hand, but he would have to tug it away and possibly make Bill angry or suspicious. He imagined a porn star holding it instead. "You're more flattering and generous than my current boyfriend."

The vampire's nostrils flared. "He can’t possibly appreciate you the way you deserve. Tell me, what can I do to make you forget him?"

Alex's hand slipped from his and found a new home on House's left knee, traveling upward.

_Fuck,_ House thought. That wasn't good. If Alex clutched at his groin, he'd know in an instant he wasn't interested in him.

Just then the waiter beamed back holding a wine bottle and two glasses.

The hand was back on the table. The clock was reset as they once again stood toe-to-toe at the skirmish line.

The waiter stood in anticipation of Alex's approval. Tipping the glass back, the vampire savored and considered the wine's characteristics as if he really cared. He nodded, and dark red liquid cascaded into two glasses. When the young man walked away, Alex made a simple toast: "To us."

Clinking glasses, House casually placed his glass back on the cloth, dropping his arm in order to block the eager hand heading on another diving mission. "Tell me about yourself. Someone as handsome as you shouldn't be alone. Why are you?"

House could see the gears turning. Alex was deciding how much to tell him to get the maximum favorable reaction.

"There was one person. A long time ago, but events kept us apart, and later...well, he...changed, and so did I. We became...distant. I suppose I was in love with the illusion and not the reality."

House saw the hazel eyes betray another ruby flash as Alex continued. "But you came along, and I thought, this is it. Strong, handsome, a man who says what he thinks. Not a phony...." Alex once again regained House's hand and was massaging the back of it with his thumb.

All of Wilson's warnings cracked and vanished like hot water hitting ice as House lowered his voice and said exactly what he was thinking. "How can a deceiving bastard like you tell truth from lies? Anyone who can't understand Wilson's good intentions through his idiotic lies was never meant to be together with him."

House tried to snatch his hand away, but the vampire held it in a vice-like grip. He thought his bones would mash under the force as Bill dropped all pretences and growled through sprung fangs, "Wilson's a coward for not taking what he wants, and every day he delays turning you, he wastes your potential. I want to show him what he's missing and make you mine. You'll be the general who leads my army. It's time for vampires to be recognized."

House was shocked. He expected insane jealousy, but the man was demented, incarnate evil. He looked around the room, but no one seemed aware what was going on. He needed time to think and was curious about the murders.

"What about the patients in the hospital? Why did you kill them?"

"Why not?" Hissed a reply. "What difference does it make to the those marked for death? So they were cheated out of a few weeks, boohoo. The relatives will cry their eyes out while relieved to move on with their lives and saved the extra hospital expense.

“But what an opportunity to expose Wilson to humankind! The Dark Community wouldn't have to hide anymore. No one would fear them after Wilson became national news...him and some of the other pussies. Not until it was too late. Fiercer, bolder vampires would come forward to defend their lifestyle. Then reprisals would begin."

The maniacal words chilled House to his core. Mass bloodletting and staking could become a reality. Icy blue eyes peered into the hot ones. House craved to understand why this deranged devil would want to start such a war, but the eyes were dark and hollow. No different from looking down the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun.

But the sight automatically pumped superhuman adrenalin throughout his body.

The voices in the room faded, and everything moved in slow motion. With one quick movement he wrenched his hand away from Bill's, and he swapped positions. He could feel nineteen bones squashing under the steady pressure of his hand, on the verge of splintering. The two glared at each other.

But Bill surprised him. The canines retracted, and he quietly laughed, still seducing him with his low-pitched voice. "Yes, you're perfect. Imagine having no one as your master. The two of us standing by each other's side...."

House’s interest in becoming a vampire wilted. Without his befanged lazy-eyed enabler, the desire turned to dust.

Before House could spit back a reply, the waiter showed up with their food.

House let go of Bill's hand.

Both quickly cooled down, slipping into the roles of friends sharing a casual evening.

Apparently, the food service was a floorshow almost worth the price of the meal. Depending upon his performance to produce larger tips, the youth, with the flourish of a magician, flipped open a small stand next to House, and placed a large tray with two covered dishes on top. "Who ordered the prime rib?"

House responded quickly, "He did, and I ordered the _stake._"

The waiter whipped off the metal lid, and House snatched up the sharpened wood point sitting on the plate with his right hand while his left was already crushing Bill's throat.

The spike soared in his hand as if rockets were attached, zeroing in on the vulnerable heart...and...he hesitated. Paused before hearing Wilson and Zehava, who had been secreted in the shadows, call out as they rushed over to him. She pleaded for mercy for her childe, and Wilson shouted, reminding him that he was a doctor and not a killer.

Meanwhile, in the seconds he lost, the patrons and the waiter pulled the two of them apart and wrestled the psychopathic vampire to the ground.

From the doorway came a commanding voice. Stanka's wrinkles, sleeves, and bangles shook in unison as she pointed toward Bill. "Never can a gadje accomplish what the Romani were born to do. Dole out justice to those who destroyed so many of our race. The VAMPIRE IS MINE!!!"

She moved closer until she was towering over Bill, hawked and spit into his face as she rattled off a fervent incantation that everyone in the room except House, Wilson, and Zehava uttered along with her.

Even the violinist.

Her curse was wrapped up neatly with one more hawk that spattered saliva, this time nearly on Wilson and Zehava's polished, expensive shoes, but they swiftly jumped out of the way.

"And now the son-of-a-bitch will know what it's like to always obey his master!" Stanka's voice rang out with satisfaction.

The ring of people holding Bill down stepped away, but Bill was no longer there.

A mongrel pup with one leg up in the air, licking his balls was sitting in his place.

"Don't tell me...." House held his arm out, pointing to the mutt. "That's Bill? He's a dog?"

The old woman smiled proudly and said, "With a soul." She called the animal to her by calling his name and tapping her hands on her legs. The critter humbly walked toward her, sniffing her shoes, turned over on his back, and peed like the Trevi Fountain.

She picked him up and held him protectively. "He'll have a good life. Dog isn't served in our restaurant."

House looked sharply at her. "If justice is to be properly served, then can I give Bill his shots?"

.

* * *

**Glossary**  
Gadje – Romani for anyone who is not a Roma.   
[](http://www.statcounter.com/myspace/)


	11. Epilogue

_**A/N:** Glossary at the end of the chapter._  
.

That night only House and Wilson occupied the apartment. They tumbled into bed after a long evening of celebration.

Stanka insisted everyone stay and join her family for an evening of Romani hospitality. The closed sign was lit and any bold patrons who came to the door were turned away with the explanation that a private party booked the restaurant for the night.

Platters of food paraded endlessly from the kitchen; Roma, vampire, and hunter sat at one long table eating family style, telling jokes, laughing, singing, and listening to boisterous tunes interspersed with melancholy melodies flowing from the violin.

Even Wilson and Zehava declared the blood rare prime rib the best they ever tasted, though they passed on seconds.

The gaiety of the evening diminished slightly and only for a moment when Stanka remembered House's question when they were in the cafeteria, and walked over to Wilson. She grabbed his right hand, but before saying anything a startled look crossed her face. She closed the fingers and patted them. She recovered and smiled saying, "You're a lefty aren't you? Let me look at your other palm."

She had the whole crowd roaring as she pronounced that Wilson would reign long as a vampire prince while discovering a cure for psoriasis, hay fever, and hemorrhoids, but his crowning achievement would come in the form of running a string of tax preparation agencies for La Famiglia. The motto would be: _We guarantee if the government doesn't suck the last drop of blood out of you, we will._

Wilson thanked her for the reading, promising, "Your family will always be welcome and sucked dry by only the best."

Trying to hide his concern after seeing Stanka's initial reaction, House looked at her while she was hugging Wilson. She warmly smiled and mouthed, "It’ll be okay."

When they were ready to leave, House showed his respect and followed Wilson's example by kissing the old woman on each cheek, saying "Thank you, Baba."

"Baba my ass! I saved _yours_ this evening. You can show your appreciation by paying the bill." Stanka cackled as she slapped an itemized invoice for food, entertainment, and one curse into his hand. "We take all major credit cards, but Wilson's isn't good here." She winked at the chocolate brown eyes.

Wilson smirked as House estimated how much were the limits on his credit cards and pulled out three from his wallet.

Fireworks exploded directly in his face. When the huge swirling dot in front of his eyes dissipated he could see Stanka elbowing her fellow Roma as she pointed to his image captured on the digital camera that she was holding.

"Naw. Keep your plastic, Gadje. I was joking. Your expression more than covered the cost of the evening."

* * *

 

House and Wilson's shoes crunched heavily against the crushed pebble surface of the parking lot as they escorted Zehava to her car.

"You conducted yourself well tonight, House," Zehava admitted as she climbed into her rental. "If you could have controlled yourself from blanching when asked to pay the bill, I'd have given you an eight on the human scale, and a seven on the vampire's. Have you considered being embraced?"

"Zehava!" Wilson's voice indicated there was no room for discussion.

Of course House was interested, but after what they went through, he wasn't ready to take a chance and lose Wilson again. The subject could be broached at a future time. For now he answered dryly, "I live only to please my master."

"Well," she sighed, "if you two are in agreement, suit yourself, but I would welcome you into La Famiglia."

Switching topics, Zehava began eagerly chatting about her immediate plans. "It's been a long time since I was in Atlantic City, and as I'm halfway there, I'm continuing in that direction. Besides, as a mother-in-law, it's best not to wear out my welcome."

"It's too late for that. Should have thought about it earli--" House stopped when he felt a sharp pinch on his ass.

Uncharacteristically, Zehava kept her voice below 130 decibels, laughed and ignored his crack. "Besides, Brunelesky called to say she already checked us into a hotel suite near the Boardwalk."

She stuck her head out the window as she backed from her parking spot, pointedly avoiding House as she told Wilson, "I'll return your book in pristine condition as soon as it's decontaminated from all the silver."

"Thanks," Wilson replied. He refrained from saying another word while he watched his sire drive from the parking lot and disappear down the road. Only then did he turn to House. "You asked her to burn it, didn't you?"

"Hey, a minion also deserves peace and harmony in his lif--"

Before the sentence was completely out of House's mouth, Wilson's tongue was pushing the last word back in.

* * *

 

And now, they lay naked in each other's arms the way it was always meant to be.

House could feel cool, glacier breath chilling the base of his neck. His eyelids heavy with anticipated passion, he spoke the most sacred endearment in their relationship, igniting the soul in the vampire.

"Blood Brothers, Wilson."

With fangs a hairsbreadth away from locking onto the pulse, Wilson murmured the eternal vow.

"Blood Brothers, House."

Vampire and human intertwined as their love and lust spiraled out of control, shedding ice and dust like a double-tailed comet. In one heartbeat they orbited the earth not once, but twice, then fled gravity for the outer edges of the galaxy where they found everything that they would ever want or need…

…each other.

.

.

* * *

  
**Glossary**  
Baba – Romani, term of respect.  
Roma – Roma, Travelers, a culture called in the past, “Gypsies” (politically incorrect).   
Romani _–__ Ethnic group known as Travelers, “Gypsies” (politically incorrect). _

__

* * *

__Bonus!_  [Art Gallery](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/63991.html)\--seven artists created artwork for the BB 'verse._

 

[](http://www.statcounter.com/)


End file.
